


De Nuit L’Obscurité Ainsi

by shadowsamurai



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Alternate Universe - Noir, Angst, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Humor, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-13
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 21:50:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 50,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/458826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowsamurai/pseuds/shadowsamurai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1938. The Old 'N Cold detective agency is about to meet one of their most influence clients, one who will change their lives completely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The characters of Mel, Frankie and Felix are all male in this story, but hopefully their characters will still be the same. Also, I've taken villains from S1-5, but the main characters of the story are from S5, with Eve's character obviously being taken from S6.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*6th March 1936, Evening*

The London street was dimly lit, the hard rain coming down shining brightly under the street lights. Leaning against the black Lagonda, Spencer 'Baby Face' Jordan tried, and failed, to light a cigarette. Glaring bitterly at the weather, he turned his collar up against the rain and pulled his hat further down over his head in an attempt to keep dry.

Spencer, standing at five feet ten inches and weighing a solid two hundred pounds, was not a man prone to nervousness, but as he checked his watch for the tenth time in five minutes and realised his boss was late, he started to feel a little anxious.

If he had been 'normal', Spencer wouldn't have let his solitary status bother him. But he wasn't 'normal'; he was black and in the neighbourhood he was in, it could spell trouble if the right parties wanted to *make* trouble.

But Spencer counted himself lucky. One night he had been walking home after getting fired from his fifth job that month when he saw a man being attacked. Without thinking, Spencer ran towards the fight and waded in fists first. The assailants ran off, leaving the man relatively unharmed, who then offered to buy Spencer a drink by way of thanks.

Spencer learnt he had just saved the life of Peter Boyd, who ran a detective agency called Old 'N Cold. The name, Boyd agreed, was not inspiring or particularly serious, but in the twelve months he had been operational, he had a decent turnover. For some time he had been looking for someone to work with him. A lot of jobs, Boyd explained, needed two people at least; would Spencer be interested in working for him?

That had been seven months ago. Spencer had only given the proposition a moment's thought before agreeing. During the first few weeks, though, he was ridiculed mercilessly, but not because of the colour of his skin. People poked fun of him because of his youthful looks, which quickly earned him the nickname 'Baby Face'.

Boyd made it clear to everyone that Spencer was to be treated with respect, and after watching his boss's fists in action, the young man could see why people paid attention to him. Spencer wasn't comfortable using 'sir', so he stuck with 'boss'; before long, it had grown into 'The Boss', a nickname Boyd was very happy with.

Two months after Spencer joined the agency, Boyd hired another body as the workload increased. Felix Gibson had a reputation for being able but surly, leading to him being name 'Deadpan Phil'. He and Spencer did not get along at first, mainly because Spencer liked to smoke in the office - with Boyd's permission, of course - and Felix hated having to fight through a blue cloud to find his desk.

But over time they had worked out their differences and learned to get along. At least that's the story Spencer told everyone. The truth was, Boyd had finally tired of their petty bickering and had locked them in the office one night, promising to let them out in the morning but only if they had behaved. He went back after a few hours to check up on them, and found they were happily polishing off his supply of good whisky while playing cards.

A sharp sound, like a bottle being kicked, brought Spencer out of his reverie and his left hand automatically reached into his coat, resting on the grip Enfield No. 2 sitting comfortable under his right arm. He was fairly confident he could outdraw anyone who wanted to attack him, but if they decided to drive by and open fire with a Tommy gun…. Spencer involuntarily shuddered at the thought.

Another sound, this time footsteps echoing loudly around the empty street, brought Spencer's gun out from under his raincoat, clearing leather in less than a second. He pivoted slowly on one foot, scanning the street through the waterfall of raindrops that was cascading down from the brim of his hat.

There was a muted male grunt of pain, and then a voice said in a loud hiss, "Be careful, you dolt! Are you trying to kill me?"

Another man gave a harsh laugh. "If that was the case, I would have left you there. Now quit grumbling!"

Spencer let out the breath he didn't even know he was holding and holstered his weapon. Through the screen of rain he saw two men approaching. The taller was powerfully built with broad shoulders, short greying hair and dark, almost black eyes. He was being supported by a shorter, thinner man with short brown hair and flat blue eyes. People often thought that Peter Boyd was grouchy; Felix Gibson had The Boss beat hands down.

"Jesus!" Spencer exclaimed, rushing forward to help Felix support Boyd. "What happened?"

"Don't blaspheme," Boyd snapped. His grey hair was marked with blood at the temple from a nasty gash on his forehead and his left eye was beginning to swell.

Spencer scowled. "What the hell happened?"

Boyd looked to Felix. "Didn't I just tell him about blaspheming?"

"Don't ask me, I wasn't listening," Felix replied.

"You never do," Boyd retorted. "It was Vine, Baby Face."

"Shit!" Spencer shook his head. "I *told* you I should have come with you."

"It wouldn't have made any difference," Felix said as they eased Boyd into the back of the black Lagonda. "Vine had brought his lackeys with him."

"We both know who's the better shot out of the two of us, Deadpan, and it ain't you."

"Listen, *Baby Face*…."

"Cut it out, both of you," Boyd snapped. "Just get us back to the office, Spence. I need a drink."

"Sure thing, Boss," Spencer replied, sliding into the driver's seat, glad to be out of the rain. Before he set off, he took his cigarettes out and lit one, inhaling deeply.

Felix made a great show of coughing. "Do you have to?" he grumbled.

Spencer simply nodded and blew a smoke ring. "Yeah, I do."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

If it wasn't for the sign on the door, no one would know the building was occupied, let alone that it housed the Old 'N Cold Detective Agency. Situated in a side alley, it was only word of mouth that advertised its location. The stone steps leading up to the building were well worn and the entrance itself was a little uninviting in its dilapidated stated.

Inside wasn't much better. The rooms that served as offices - all two of them - were extremely utilitarian, dimly lit and bland, except for its polished wooden floor. Boyd's office was a small room off the main one, with a desk, two chairs and a set of shelves. The main room didn't contain much more; it seemed fuller because of the small kitchen off to one side. It had been housed in a room of its own, but at some point, the previous owners had decided to integrate it with the living room. When Boyd took over the building, he couldn't afford to have the walls rebuilt so he had tried to use screens to hide the kitchen. There was also a table, two desks, three chairs, a couple of filing cabinets, and not much of anything else.

Felix rummaged around in the kitchen while Spencer eased Boyd into the nearest chair. He retrieved the first aid kit from the top drawer of one of the filing cabinets and after cleaning the wound on Boyd's head, stuck a piece of plaster over it.

"There we go, just like new," Spencer said with a grin.

Boyd glared at him and turned as Felix held something in front of him. "What's that?"

"Ice in a towel. What does it look like?" Felix replied. "Put it against your eye. It'll help to ease the swelling."

"You died and made you my mother?" Boyd asked, taking the ice and pressing it to his head.

Spencer laughed as he put the first aid kit back, spun a chair around and straddled it. "So, what happened with Vine? Did you get him?" he asked, lighting up another cigarette.

Boyd nodded. "We did."

"Before or after you got your head kicked in, Boss?" Spencer said with a grin.

"Before, Baby Face," Felix replied, handing Spencer and Boyd a glass of whisky each. Boyd emptied the contents of the towel into his drink.

Eddie Vine was a known ex-policeman-turned-gangster, and Boyd had a personal vendetta against the man. Not only had he been employed to catch Vine by several different clients, failing each time, he and Vine had been in the police service together. Boyd said he had left before Vine; Spencer wasn't so sure. Sometimes he felt Vine had left - or had been pushed - first, and Boyd went so he could pursue Vine more easily.

But whatever the truth was, it didn't matter now. A few weeks ago, Cheryl Palliser had come to the agency to beg for Boyd's help. Her husband, Thomas, had been shot by Vine and left to die in the street. The police weren't interested; they put it down as a gang-related issue and refused to touch it. Boyd, however, leapt at the job.

They soon found out Vine was running a protection racket, ripping owners of small shops off for more than they could afford. It turned out Palliser had been one of those owners, and one day he had told Vine he wasn't paying up any more, so Vine killed him.

"His cronies were pissed because without Vine, the whole racket collapses," Boyd explained, sipping his drink. "They took a crack at us, but ran when they heard police sirens."

"And Vine?" Spencer asked. "What did you do with him, Boss?"

"We didn't kill him, if that's what you're asking, Baby Face," Felix said.

Spencer glared at him. "No, Deadpan, 'cause we don't do that sort of thing, do we?"

"Only if the situation warrants that reaction," Boyd replied.

"So? Did you turned him over to a rival godfather? Another gangster who wanted Vine dead?" Spencer pressed. Boyd shook his head. "So what did you do with him?" Suddenly the young man looked aghast. "You didn't, Boss!"

Boyd nodded and an evil grin spread across his face. "We turned him over to the police, as any good citizen would."

Any officer that turned his back on the force, especially in the way Vine had, was not held in high regard by the police at all.

"But the bobbies…they'll turn him into mulch!" Spencer exclaimed.

"Ain't that a shame," Boyd replied, beaming and draining his glass.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*14th September 1938, Morning*

Even years later, when Peter Boyd was asked when it all started, the case that changed his and his team's lives, he would be able to tell the inquirer the precise date and even the time and weather.

It was 14th September, 1938, a Wednesday to be exact, and outside, the rain was pouring as usual. The humidity was high and Boyd spent much of the day without his jacket on, his tie hanging loosely around his neck highlighting the undone buttons of his shirt, which was sticking to his body like a second skin. The fan on the ceiling was going round, but it wasn't making much headway against the heat.

Outside in the main room, Felix and Spencer were engaged in a half-hearted game of five-card stud, their jackets also long abandoned, ties also hanging round their necks, and sleeves rolled way up.

"I hate slow days," Boyd announced as he ambled into the main room, heading for the kitchen area.

"Who don't?" Spencer replied, laying his cards on the table with a flourish and a grin.

Felix stared incredulously. "Again? You've won *again*?"

"What can I say?" Spencer asked with a shrug, propping his chair on two legs so he could reach across the table and sweep his winnings towards him. "I'm a lucky guy."

"Sure you're not a goddamn cheat?" Felix retorted heatedly, his hand going to the grip of his gun.

Spencer held his hands up. "Easy, man. No cheating going on here." He shook his head. "You've got a serious case of trigger-happiness, you know that, Deadpan? I think maybe you should work for a gang instead. They're always looking for good shooters."

Boyd shook his head and poured himself some coffee, grimacing at the way it came out. As he looked at it in the cup, he wondered if it could crawl out on its own. A loud crash behind him brought him out of his musings and he turned to see Spencer sprawled on his back on the floor.

Felix was sat with an 'I didn't do anything' expression on his face, his hand on the table now, well away from his gun. "He slipped, Boss" Deadpan Phil said, somewhat unnecessarily.

Boyd didn't know whether to frown, roll his eyes, or laugh. In the end, he settled for a simple, "I can see that."

"How come," Spencer started, getting to his feet and righting his chair, "He can blaspheme, but I get told off?"

"Deadpan's too old to listen and change his ways," Boyd replied, pulling a toothpick out of his shirt pocket and putting it between his lips. "There's hope for you, Baby Face."

Spencer grunted. "Yeah, right. I think you just enjoy shouting at me."

Boyd smiled and moved the toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. "There is that about it."

"Do you have to do that, Boss?" Spencer grumbled. "I want a cigarette now."

As he took his case out, Felix exhaled noisily. "Go outside for once, Baby Face."

"It's pissing down!"

"So? Don't smoke then."

"Look, Deadpan, you can't tell me not to smoke in here," Spencer retorted, putting the cigarette into his mouth.

"For once, Baby Face, go outside," Boyd said. "It's starting to smell like a seedy bar in here. That's probably why we haven't got any clients."

"Does that mean you're going to drink outside?" Spencer asked as he left the room.

Boyd looked at Felix. "What's his problem?"

Felix shrugged. "Got me, Boss."

"Alright," Boyd said, chewing on his toothpick. "What's your problem?"

Felix scowled. "Don't have one."

"Everyone's got a problem, Phil," Boyd replied quietly.

"Yeah? So what's yours, Boss? Wife left you? Kids hate you?" Felix asked with a sneer.

Boyd glared at Deadpan for a moment before walking back into his office, slamming the door behind him. Spencer's head appeared at the front door. "What was that about?"

"I'm not sure," Felix replied, frowning.

"You said something to piss him off."

"Made a crack about wife and kids because he was trying to understand me," Felix said with a grunt.

Spencer pulled a face. "Oh, well done, Deadpan, you idiot."

"What did I do?"

Spencer threw his cigarette butt out into the street and leant against the doorframe while he dried off a little. "Before you joined us, me and The Boss would talk a little. Nothing fancy, just over a drink at the end of the day, that sort of thing." Baby Face stared at a spot on the wall just over Felix's head as he spoke. "He told me once that his wife left him after his son ran away from home. The Boss said Joe - that's his son - was found dead and his wife never forgave him. Not long after that he left the police."

Felix whistled. "Shit. You know that information might have been useful before."

"It wasn't any of your business," a deep voice rumbled, and the two men turned to see Boyd stood in the doorway of his office. "Don't you have some filing you could be doing, Gibson? And, Jordan…go outside and have another cigarette before you get your arse in here to help Deadpan."

"Yes, sir," they both replied through gritted teeth.

Spencer ducked out of the building and stood to the side of the door, his back well up against the wall as he lit another cigarette. He was trying to stay dry; it wasn't working. As he stood with his shoulders hunched against the rain, Spencer stared up the alley and out onto the street.

It was fairly - and understandably - quiet, with only the odd car passing and even less people. From his position, Spencer could see the agency's car clearly. A black V-12 Lagonda, new that year, was not as comfortable to drive as the old Lagonda, but when that had been reduced to scrap in a car crash earlier in June, Boyd was forced to purchase another.

Just as he was about to put his cigarette out, Spencer noticed a car parking behind the Lagonda. Immediately he was alert; the street was abundant with parking spaces, so anyone stopping there was most likely looking for the agency. After staring for a moment, Spencer went back inside and shook himself, rain droplets flying everywhere.

"Do you have to do that?" Felix asked acidly.

Spencer pretended to think for a moment. "Yeah, I do." He walked over to Boyd's office and popped his head into the room. "Might have a visitor soon."

"Good or bad?" Boyd asked, looking up. The toothpick was still protruding from the corner of his mouth.

"I'd say good, unless gangsters now drive brand new Daimler limousines," Spencer replied.

"Colour?" Felix asked out of interest.

Spencer looked over his shoulder. "Blue bottom, black top. Blond male driver, blonde female passenger. She looked…older, distinguished."

Boyd straightened in his chair, the toothpick suddenly finding its way into the rubbish bin. "Relationship?"

Spencer shrugged. "I've got a good memory, but I don't read minds. I'd say she's wealthy, which means probably a widow," he said. "But that's just a guess. As for the driver…could be just that, could be a bodyguard. Could be her bloody son or toy boy for all the hell I know."

"Don't blaspheme," Boyd told him somewhat absently.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Could be nothing."

"Could be everything," Boyd replied. "Alright, gentlemen, let's make the place look inviting. If this woman does want to purchase our services, I don't want her to be put of by the state of the office. You two want to live like pigs in your own place, that's fine, but not…."

"…In the place of work," Spencer and Felix chorused. "We know, Boss."

"Then why the hell does it still look like a sty?" Boyd asked.

"We haven't had the time to tidy yet," Felix replied.

"Yeah, and don't blaspheme, Boss," Spencer added.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*14th September 1938, Afternoon*

By lunch time the rain had stopped and the sun had finally broken through the thick grey clouds, its rays making everything seem cleaner and brighter than before. Unfortunately the air was still humid and since no one had visited the agency after all, the men had gone back to being comfortable, with their ties hanging like nooses around their necks and their shirts with more buttons undone than done up.

"Boss, I was thinking," Spencer said, looking across into Boyd's office.

"That'll be a first," Felix muttered.

Spencer turned and glared at him, blowing a stream of blue-grey smoke in his direction. "Since we're run off our feet, maybe I can take a few days off. Go and see my folks."

Boyd pretended to be shocked. "You want a holiday? I though you were addicted to work, Baby Face."

"That's only because you don't give any choice, Boss," Spencer protested.

"Excuse me."

"Well if he's having a holiday, I want one as well," Felix said.

Boyd stared at him. "You don't have family to visit."

"So? I can still take a holiday, can't I?"

"Excuse me."

Boyd shook his head. "You can't both have a break at the same time. Baby Face asked first, so if I'm going to say yes, he gets to go first."

*"Excuse me."*

"Who the hell is that?" Boyd asked, frowning. "And don't either of you even *think* the word 'blaspheme'."

"I said it."

Felix and Spencer turned to the entrance of the main room, while Boyd stood up and left his office. "And you are?" Felix asked in a surly tone.

The man before them was short and slender, with short blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a nose so straight you could ski down it. He had very fair skin and didn't look old enough to shave, which didn't endear him to the men of the agency.

"My name is Melvin Silver," he said.

Spencer looked like he was about to asphyxiate himself through trying not to laugh. "Melvin?" he repeated incredulously.

The man just stared back, unfazed, making Boyd reassess his initial guess at Mel's age. "You need to do more than squeak if you want to get people's attention," The Boss said.

"I did think about shooting you, but that would have caused more trouble than it would have been worth," Mel replied.

A slow smile spread across Boyd's face. "I hope that was a joke, for your sake. Otherwise you'll be leaving here in a matchbox."

The first glimmer of uncertainty crossed Mel's face and he held his hands up. "Relax. I was joking."

"Alright, Mr Silver, what can we do for you?" Boyd asked.

"You're a detective agency, yes?" Mel replied.

"No, we're a bakery," Felix said. "What do you think?"

"I think introductions would be polite," Mel retorted calmly. "As you have no doubt already guessed, I'm not the client, merely the messenger."

"In that case, tell your boss we only talk to organ grinders, not their monkeys," Boyd said, turning and heading back to his office.

"It's a pity the people that recommended your services didn't mention your appalling attitudes. I wouldn't have made the trip otherwise."

The voice was low and slightly husky, a voice born of cocktails and cigarettes, Boyd would have guessed, and as he slowly turned back to see who would own such a timbre, he found his guess to be accurate.

Both Felix and Spencer stood up immediately, trying not to knock their chairs back in their haste. Boyd was a little less hurried in his movements, taking the time to study the woman in front of him. "And you are?"

"This is…," Mel started to say, but the woman silenced him with a simple gesture.

"I can speak for myself, Mel. Thank you," she said. "Why don't you wait in the car?"

Mel scowled. "I don't think that's a good idea, ma'am."

The woman laughed, a deeply feminine but light sound. "Don't be absurd, Mel. I'm sure these gentlemen are perfectly trustworthy." She reached into her cream handbag and withdrew a cigarette holder. Putting it to her ruby lips, she said, "I don't suppose…."

Spencer strode forward, taking out his cigarette case and lighter. "Here."

The woman smiled. "Thank you."

"I believe introductions are in order," Boyd said, taking charge of the situation. "I'm Peter Boyd. This is Felix Gibson and Spencer Jordan."

The woman looked at Felix. "Deadpan Phil, am I right? And you would be the new kid on the block." She smiled. "I can see why they call you Baby Face." She fixed Boyd with a gaze that wasn't particularly friendly or hostile. "And what do they call you?"

"The Boss," he replied flatly. "And you would be…?"

"Grace Foley. I hope my chauffeur has already introduced himself."

"Chauffeur or bodyguard?" Felix muttered.

Grace narrowed her eyes a fraction. "Yes, your name is well earned."

Boyd cleared his throat. "Why don't you come into my office, Mrs Foley? Then we can discuss how we can help you."

"Thank you." Grace turned to Mel. "You can either stay here or wait in the car, but I don't need a shadow for this meeting."

Mel obviously wasn't happy with the choices, judging from the look on his face, but he didn't argue with her.

"Spence, make us some coffee, will you?" Boyd asked, then looked at Grace. "Would you like some coffee, Mrs Foley?"

"Please."

"Why am I the tea boy?" Spencer grumbled.

Boyd glared at him. "Because you don't make it like treacle. Besides, Deadpan's going to keep Mr Silver entertained." He motioned for Grace to enter his office. "Shall we?"

"Thank you," she said.

"So, Mrs Foley, how can the Old 'N Cold Detective Agency help you?" Boyd asked once they were both seated.

Grace took a drag of her cigarette, then looked around for somewhere to deposit the butt. Boyd produced an ashtray from a drawer in his desk for her. "I'm sure what I ask of you is terribly boring compared to some of the jobs you must normally get asked to do," she started.

Boyd treated her to a polite smile. "I assure you, Mrs Foley, we don't choose jobs simply because they sound interesting. How can we help?"

"I need some important files retrieving," Grace said, suddenly all business. "They were stolen from me and I must have them back. I don't know exactly who stole them, but I know damn well whose hands they ended up in."

As she spoke, Boyd took the time to study Grace. She was of average height and build, but still shapely and extremely elegant. Her blonde hair was shorter than normal and worn in a bob. Boyd knew she was older than she looked, but she looked good enough to pretend to be younger.

He picked a pen up, found a blank sheet of paper and began scribbling. "Alright, Mrs Foley, what exactly was stolen?"

"Three files of a sensitive nature. I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about the contents."

"You don't know or you don't want to share?" Boyd asked.

Grace smiled. "Does it make a difference to your enquiries?"

"Not particularly. At least for the moment," he added. "When were these files taken?"

"Last Friday."

"So that would have been the 9th," Boyd muttered to himself. "What time?"

"I was out having supper with friends," Grace said. "I left the house at around six pm and I didn't arrive home until just after ten. Mel noticed the front door was open and that the lock had been forced."

"I see," Boyd replied. "Did you call the police?"

"No."

Boyd looked up. "Mrs Foley, I am obliged to advise you that you should do that first."

"I can't," Grace said, looking distressed. "Mr Boyd, you have to understand the extreme sensitive nature of these documents. If they have fallen into the wrong hands, I will be ruined."

"Is there anything illegal I should know about?" Boyd asked, and Grace glared at him. "I'm sorry, Mrs Foley, but I must ask."

"Does the answer depend on whether you take the job or not?" she retorted archly.

Boyd smiled a little. "Not really. But if there's some illegalities involved, the danger to my team is greater. These are things I need to know about."

Grace smiled back and inclined her head. "Very well, Mr Boyd." She didn't comment further. "The other reason the police won't help me is because of who I think stole the documents."

"I thought you said you didn't know."

"I'm sorry, I should have phrased that better," Grace said. "It is who *ordered* the files to be taken."

"Name?"

"William Drake."

Boyd looked up. "He's a businessman, isn't he? Quite a successful one as well."

Grace nodded. "Which is precisely why the police won't help me."

Boyd looked thoughtful. "Alright, Mrs Foley, thank you for coming by. I'll talk with my colleagues and we'll be able to tell you whether we'll take the job or not by the end of the day, okay?"

"Very well."

Boyd stood and Grace followed his lead. "A pleasure meeting you, Mrs Foley," he said, shaking hands gently with her.

"Likewise, Mr Boyd." She turned but paused with her hand on the door. "Wouldn't you like my address? Or even a telephone number?"

Boyd smiled, broadly this time. "I believe your driver has already supplied one of my colleagues with that information."

For a moment, Grace bristled, but she soon let it pass. "I see. Well, good day, Mr Boyd."

Boyd strode across the room and opened his office door for her. "Good day, Mrs Foley. We'll be in touch soon."

"Mel," Grace said, inclining her head slightly.

Mel stood and dropped his cards on the table, not bothering to finish his hand, and nodded curtly to Felix and Spencer before following Grace out of the agency.

There was silence in the main room for a few minutes afterwards, then Spencer turned to Boyd. "So, Boss? We got a job?" he asked.

"I think we might, boys," Boyd replied thoughtfully. "I think we might."

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*14th September 1938, Evening*

"Why do I have to do this?" Spencer grumbled into the darkness.

Boyd stared in the direction of the voice. "Do I really need to answer that?" He was met with silence. "Fine. First, I'm The Boss, so what I say goes. Second, I'd never fit through the windows and we all know it."

"You think I can?" Spencer retorted. A deadly quiet settled over the men, broken only by Baby Face striking a match. In the brief illumination, he saw the expression on Boyd's face and quickly lowered his head. The match went out and then there was only the glow from the end of his cigarette. "Sorry, Boss."

"You will be if you come out with that crap again, boy," Boyd snapped.

Spencer took a step forward and jabbed his cigarette towards The Boss. "*Don't* call me 'boy'."

"Then don't act like one."

"Have you two finished?" Felix asked. "Some of us have lives outside of work, you know."

"Yeah? Who?" Boyd retorted. "Look, if Deadpan goes in, he's bound to get arrested."

Felix turned, scowled. "What?"

"You've got 'guilty' written all over that ugly mug of yours," Boyd said. "Besides, Mel and Mrs Foley are more likely to recognise Spencer than you, Felix."

"I can't decide if that's a compliment or an insult," Deadpan grumbled.

Spencer threw his cigarette on the ground and stubbed it out with his foot. "Alright, run past me what I'm supposed to do again."

Boyd sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "For God's sake, Baby Face, pay more attention, will you? All I want you to do is gain entrance to the house, preferably through the front door. I want to know if that's easy or hard. Then find the study."

"Why the study?" Spencer asked.

"Because that's where most people keep important documents, you idiot," Felix replied, shaking his head.

Suddenly Boyd smacked Spencer round the back of the head. "Just get on with it, will you?" Then he clipped Felix for good measure. "And you leave him alone. If anyone needs ticking off, I'll do it. Got it?"

"Yeah, Boss," they both chorused.

"Good. Now go to it , Baby Face."

Spencer nodded curtly and heading along the hedge line. "Think he'll be able to do it?" Felix asked quietly from the shadows.

Boyd nodded, then realising his colleague probably couldn't see him, said, "He's the best I've come across at this sort of thing."

Felix snorted. "You mean breaking and entering? That's saying something, coming from an ex-bobby."

"Shut up, Deadpan," Boyd replied, taking a toothpick out of his jacket pocket.

"Why don't you just smoke?" Felix asked.

"This is a cleaner habit," Boyd said, chewing on the pick. "It doesn't damage your health and it's cheaper."

"Splinters in your tongue would be bad for your health," Felix muttered.

"Keeping talking will be bad for *yours.*" Boyd shook his head. "Sometimes I wonder why I hired you."

Felix shrugged. "Because I'm good."

"I'm sure you must be at something, I just haven't found what that is yet." After a few moments of silence, Boyd frowned and said, "Felix?" No answer. "What's going on, Deadpan?"

"I would suggest, Mr Boyd, that you keep quiet, otherwise I would be well in my rights to shoot you," a voice announced, and immediately The Boss felt the cold metal of a gun muzzle pressing against the back of his head.

"Crap," he muttered. "Look, Mel…."

"Mr Silver, please. We're not that friendly," Mel replied.

"Damn right we're not," Boyd said heatedly. "And we'll be a lot less friendly if you don't take that gun away from my damn head!"

There was an audible click in the night. "You'd better do as he says, Mel, because I wouldn't think twice about blowing a hole in you," Felix said calmly.

Mel hesitated, which Boyd sensed and it was all the chance he needed. Ducking and turning at the same time, he punched Mel in the solar plexus with his right fist, crashing his left into the smaller man's gun arm. The blond crumbled to his knees, winded.

Boyd picked the gun up and cracked it open, making a noise of disgust. "It's bloody well empty!" He looked at Felix. "Where the hell did you go?"

"I could say for a leak, but I'd be lying," Felix replied. "I heard a noise, knew it wasn't Spencer and decided to check it out."

"Good thinking," Boyd said after a beat.

"Boss!" a hushed voice exclaimed.

"Here, Baby Face," Boyd murmured. "Well?"

"Lock on the front door's pretty difficult to open. Whoever did it must have been a pro," Spencer replied. "But it's the kind of lock that requires real delicate attention. I had a check once it was opened and couldn't see any telltale marks of forcing at all. I'd hate to call a lady, but…."

"Mrs Foley was lying to us," Boyd stated. "And the study?"

"No locks, no security, walk in, walk out. No problem."

"That's what I thought." Boyd turned to Felix. "Help him to his feet."

Spencer looked down and did a double take when he saw Mel. "What happened?"

"Welcoming committee," Felix replied, hauling the blond man to his feet.

"Let's go and see the lady of the house, shall we?" Boyd said, leading the way through the darkness.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

As it was, Grace was waiting for them on the front door step, her arms folded across her chest and her dark blue eyes flashing dangerously. "I want to know what the meaning of this is," she said forcefully.

Boyd looked up, feigning surprise. "What are you talking about, Mrs Foley? I said I would call on you later to give you an answer."

Spencer cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I, er, left the front door open."

"Jordan, you dolt!" Boyd admonished him.

"You're lucky I haven't called the police yet," Grace said angrily.

"Why didn't you tell us who your husband was, Mrs Foley?" Boyd replied, taking immediate control of the situation.

Grace stiffened. "It wasn't relevant."

"Pardon me, but it's very relevant. It would have told me who *you* were. At least now I know why you don't want the police involved."

Instantly Grace's expression transformed from one of fury to one of charm. "Mr Boyd, would you care for a drink?"

"Not particularly," he replied.

Grace's eyes hardened again. "It wasn't a request. Mr Gibson, Mr Jordan, please take Mel through to the kitchen and get him a stiff drink. You'll find it's the third door on the left down the corridor."

"Mrs Foley, whatever you have to say, you can say in front of my colleagues," Boyd said, irritated at being dictated to.

"And I'm sure you, as a gentleman, Mr Boyd, will understand if I do not wish to divulge all my secrets to three total strangers," Grace replied smoothly. "Doing so to one is bad enough. Then, afterwards, whatever you choose to repeat to them is entirely up to you."

Boyd thought about her 'request' for a moment before nodding. "Very well." He looked at Spencer and Felix and inclined his head curtly once.

"Excellent. This way, Mr Boyd." Grace turned and entered the house.

The living room was decorated in the finest everything; furniture, rugs, paintings, silverware. Boyd whistled low as he saw it. "You live very well, Mrs Foley."

"And jealous, snide remarks don't suit you, Boyd," she retorted quickly. "Whisky?"

"If you insist." After giving the room one last cursory glance, he turned his attention to Grace. "I won't waste either of our time, Mrs Foley, so you'll have to forgive me if I come across as being blunt or rude."

"Oh, I'm used to that already," Grace said coyly as she handed him his drink.

Boyd pretended not to notice her flirtatiousness. "Your husband was James 'Back Breaker' Foley, a notorious gangster who made thousands, quite possibly millions, running the underground, illegal trades of London."

"Yes, he was," Grace replied truthfully.

"At first I didn't recognise your name, and then when I started to do some research, I still didn't connect you with Back Breaker because you are only ever referred to by you nickname: The Rose."

"I'm impressed, Boyd. Most people take a great deal longer to discern that kind of information."

Boyd shrugged. "I'm good at my job," he said without a hint of ego.

"I can see that," Grace replied. "And that is another reason I wanted to hire your services."

"I'm sorry, Mrs Foley, but we cannot take this job," Boyd told her seriously, his deep voice rumbling as his spoke, his dark eyes hard, almost cold.

But underneath he felt very different. Everything about Grace captured him; she was the only woman to have seriously grabbed his attention in such a way since his wife left him, and even she hadn't captivated the way Grace was doing. Boyd knew the worst thing was Grace wasn't even trying; he had already surmised that if she made a little effort, she could reel him in like a prize catch.

"Because I have gangster connections, is that it?" Grace asked, her tone harsh. "Or because you think I'm a gangster's moll?"

"You are," Boyd said, "But I don't think you're a prostitute. I think you loved your husband very much and that you were faithful to him. My reasons for not taking this case are strictly on the level. Gangsters play by entirely different rules to detectives; someone always ends up getting killed and it usually isn't the gangster." He drained his glass and placed it carefully on the table. "I'm sorry, Mrs Foley. Good evening."

Out in the corridor, Boyd yelled for Spencer and Felix and the three of them made a hasty retreat outside, Boyd telling his colleagues the bare details on the way.

"So let me get this straight," Spencer said as he climbed into the driver's seat of the Lagonda. "We risked getting arrested, or worse shot, tonight and now we're not taking the case?"

"Do you want to get involved with gangsters, Baby Face?" Boyd asked from the back of the car.

Spencer shrugged. "I suppose if you put it like that…."

"I've got to admit, I'm surprised," Felix said as they set off.

Boyd stared at the back of his head. "Why?"

"You've got a soft spot for Mrs Foley already," Felix replied slyly, looking sideways at Spencer. "Got to admit, who wouldn't? Attractive woman like that…and rich as well. A little old for my tastes, but…."

"Shut up, Deadpan," Boyd snapped, pulled the brim of his hat down over his face so he could pretend to be sleeping.

That drive back to the agency was one of the only times Spencer could ever remember Felix laughing.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*16th September 1938, Evening*

The Jade Flower was quietly busy, just the way William Drake liked it. He had never known it to be packed; in fact, some could say he discouraged a full house, his own comfort being more important than making a profit. Of course, a man in Drake's position didn't need to worry about acquiring wealth; he already had more money than he could ever spend in his lifetime and he was damned if he'd let anyone stop him from enjoying it.

As the singer finished her number, there was a polite applause but nothing earth shattering. Drake put his hands together twice and returned his attention to his drink. The club employed a number of entertainers, mainly singers and dancers, but none were exceptional or particularly noticeable in any way, even though Drake had hand selected them. There was only one who was good enough to draw crowds, only one Drake saved his full attention for.

He was a short, rotund man, with grey, almost white hair that was receding. His eyes were unusually dark, and at first seemed jovial and welcoming. Drake always found this piece of information to be amusing. He saw himself as a predator, one of the best, luring his prey into a false sense of security with his false gaze.

But underneath Drake's deceiving exterior was a mind that was as sharp as a razor and as deadly as an asp. His ruthlessness was one of the main reasons he had survived so long and become as successful as he was.

Another singer finished, drawing a less enthusiastic applause than the previous performer, but she didn't seem to mind. She was only young and judging by her expression, it seemed that at least for now, being on stage was all she wanted to do.

Drake had just ordered another drink when he heard a strained silence fall over the room in stages. Smiling, he knew his chauffeur was heading towards him, his surly presence causing even the chattiest of people to stop talking.

"Evening, Tommy," Drake said without looking. "Drink?"

"Whisky. Neat." The voice was rough and coarse, a true representation of the man it belonged to.

Tommy McQueen was a tall, heavily built made, with thick red hair and a heavily jowled face. His eyes were hooded, giving him the look of a predator as well, but an obvious one. He picked his glass up in a meaty hand and downed its contents in one. He lit a cigarette, inhaling deeply before ordering another drink.

"She been on yet?" McQueen asked, a slight Irish accent tingeing his voice.

"Not yet." By comparison, Drake's voice was quite high and as manicured as ladies' nails should be.

McQueen grunted and downed his second drink. "Been some word on the street involving you."

"Serious?"

"Not sure. Could be. Apparent theft."

Drake finally looked sideways at McQueen. "Of what and from whom?"

"Documents, sensitive ones, from some woman named Foley," McQueen replied between puffs of his cigarette.

"Really?" Drake's voice was calm. "How interesting."

"Want me to sort it?" McQueen asked.

But before Drake could answer, the lights dimmed and a silence of anticipation descended over the crowd. "Ah, here she comes," Drake said with a smile.

There wasn't a sound as the singer performed her routine, her flawless beauty translated into the song she was giving to the people listening. No one dared to even reach for their drink, as though moving would be a heinous act.

For his part, McQueen could take or leave all the singing and dancing. His preferred venue was one thick with smoke, where the furniture bore its scars of previous battles proudly and where the only drink served was whisky. But Drake paid him well and asked very little of him, so spending a little time at The Jade Flower was a small inconvenience in the grand scale of things.

When the singer had finished, the applause was tumultuous, especially from Drake, and even McQueen was surprised when a few of the customers gave a standing ovation. Calls for an encore, however, went unnoticed as they always did.

"La Femme Fée," Drake said, sighing happily.

McQueen grunted and downed his drink. "What about this woman?"

"What woman?" Drake asked.

"Foley," McQueen replied through gritted teeth.

"Ah, yes." Drake tapped his chin thoughtfully, then sipped his drink. "Let me think on it."

"But…."

"I said I'll think about it," Drake said, his tone suddenly sharp. "That's your problem, Tommy, you don't think about anything. You simply do."

"Thought you only paid me to do, not think," McQueen replied surly.

"Precisely. Now go away. You're lowering the tone of the establishment." Drake emptied his glass. "If you haven't heard from me by the end of the night, you're to do nothing except keep your ears open, understood?"

McQueen gritted his teeth together. "Yeah."

"Good. Now, off you go."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*17th September 1938, Morning*

Boyd had to admit there was some perks to living above his place of work. For one, he didn't have to factor in travel costs to his budget, which meant he earned more. And secondly, perhaps most importantly, if he wanted to lounge about looking like a tramp at the weekends while doing his paperwork, he could.

It was late that Saturday morning when Boyd finally came downstairs to the kitchen. Yawning and rubbing his eyes, he made some coffee, wondering what the next week would bring. Boyd knew that if work didn't come their way soon, he would have to lay someone off, and while he didn't want to lose either of his colleagues, the one to go would have to be Felix.

Boyd scowled at his depressive thoughts. He hadn't been this bad since Joe had been found shot, apparently killed in crossfire between two rival gangs. What hurt Boyd the most was that he would never know for certain whether his son was involved with the gangs or really just an innocent bystander as the police had thought.

"Setting a new fashion trend, Boss?" Spencer asked with a grin as he came into the room.

Boyd looked down at himself. He was barefoot and his shirt was hanging out, the cuffs and first few buttons undone. "Yeah. What do you think?"

"Very vagabond," Spencer said, pouring himself a coffee. "I like it."

"And what are you supposed to be?"

"Tidy."

"I said 'supposed'."

"Ouch, Boss, that hurt."

Boyd grunted and headed into his office so Spencer would see the smile on his face. When Boyd had offered Baby Face a job, he had also offered him a room above the agency. It wasn't that Spencer didn't have anywhere to live, it was simply convenient for both of them. At first Spencer had been suspicious of this man, especially because he lived and worked in the same building, but in reply to his reservations, Boyd had just shrugged and said, "The rent was cheaper if I took the rooms above the office. Makes sense to me. Besides, if you live here, you earn more money."

When Felix had been hired, Boyd made him the same offer but - and Spencer was very glad of it - Deadpan had declined. It was probably just as well; he and Baby Face argued enough at work. Boyd didn't think he could cope with it outside of office hours as well. Besides, Spencer was a lot better company than Felix.

"So," Spencer said, leaning against the doorframe of Boyd's office as he lit a cigarette.

"So?" Boyd replied.

"You're really not going to take that case, are you?" he asked, blowing smoke out into the main room, the fan carrying it away from Boyd's office.

The Boss shook his head. "I'm really taking that case."

"Even though you fancy her?"

"I don't know where you and Deadpan got that idea from."

Spencer grinned. "The look on your face. She's an attractive woman, if you like them older. And since you're older…."

"Jordan…," Boyd said warningly.

"Easy, Boss, you know I'm only fooling around." Spencer sobered. "So her husband really was a gangster?"

"You were there, Baby Face. You heard what the snitch said."

"I heard a lot of gurgling," Spencer replied, taking a drag of his cigarette. "You were trying to strangle him at the time, remember?"

Boyd shrugged. "He's a snitch. They need to be squeezed for information."

Spencer groaned. "Seriously, Boss, don't." He turned, crossed to his desk and crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray. Then he walked back to Boyd's office and dropped into a chair. "Mrs Foley doesn't look the type to spend time round gangsters."

"I guess you're a little too young to remember Back Breaker Foley, aren't you?" Boyd asked.

"Name doesn't ring any bells, so yeah."

"Few years ago, about '31 or '32, gangs started to get organised," Boyd started. "I'd been in the police a while by then and we noticed the change straight away. But it was more than just someone cleaning house; they were hiding their activities behind legit means. I forget how many times we pulled James Foley in for questioning and how many times we had to let him go because we had nothing on him."

"And you never saw his wife at all?"

Boyd shook his head. "A gangster's moll, especially one married to someone like Back Breaker, stays in the background. Don't get me wrong, though. I'm certain that if Mrs Foley wanted something done badly enough, she'd do it herself. But that's how they keep things hidden, through their wives and mistresses."

"What about her name? The Rose?" Spencer asked, draining his coffee.

Boyd smiled. "Sweet, beautiful, but thorny as hell, apparently," he replied. "Appearances can be deceiving and all that shit. That's about all I can tell you. Information on Mrs Foley is sketchy at best, and I think she likes it that way."

There was a knock at the door and both men looked up. "I'll get it," Spencer said, rising and crossing the room in long strides. Immediately a man was shown into the main office, his eyes darting nervously in every direction, his left cheek twitching constantly. Spencer stayed by the day, his body tensed and his expression alert.

"Shit, Day!" Boyd exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Got information for you," Day replied. Cliff Day was a well known snitch who made his living by supplying information to anyone who could afford it. Or however threatened him the most.

Spencer had heard the rumours Day had once worked for a notorious gangster before deciding being a grass was less hazardous to his health. Baby Face wondered how much of that was true.

"What about?" Boyd asked.

"Drake," Day replied.

"You said you didn't know anything the other day." Boyd was advancing on him menacingly.

Day shuffled backwards until he reached the wall. "I remembered something. It's important."

"I'm listening," Boyd said, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Drake. William Drake. Also known as Big Bill."

Boyd's arms dropped to his sides. "The gangster?"

As Day nodded, Spencer whistled. "Shit, I've heard of him."

"Language, Baby Face," Boyd said, his dark eyes boring into Day's. "I've never heard of a connection between those two names before. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Be-because I - I used to work for Big Bill," Day stuttered. "Believe me, it's the same guy."

"You little…," Boyd snarled, raising his fist.

"He's not worth it, Boss, you know that," Spencer said from his position near the door.

"I know, but it'll make me feel better."

"Drake can be found at The Jade Flower if you want him," Day said in a rush. "And I don't want paying this time. I volunteered the information. Can I go now?" He had edged towards the door while talking, and without waiting for an answer, he pushed past Spencer and hit the street running.

"That was strange," Spencer said, closing the door and looking at Boyd.

"Which part?"

"All of it." Spencer sat in his chair and lit a cigarette. "Think he was telling the truth?"

Boyd nodded slowly. "I see no reason for him to lie. My only concern is why he chose to tell us this information now."

Spencer looked at The Boss incredulously. "That's your *only* concern?" He shook his head. "You've got to get your priorities straight, Boss."

"Meaning?" Boyd asked, sitting at Felix's desk.

"Meaning you made the right decision before, Boss," Spencer said seriously. "If Mrs Foley has gangster connections, and the guy who stole from her is as notorious as her husband was, if not more so, this is something we shouldn't be getting messed up in."

Boyd smiled. "Believe me, Spence, I have no intention of get involved in this now. I'm just curious why Day decided to tell us right now, and why he didn't want paying."

There was another knock at the door, a light tap that made both men reach for their guns. "Shit," Boyd muttered, and Spencer nodded in agreement, his expression chagrined. It was Saturday; both their holsters were upstairs, with the weapons in them.

"Could be anyone," Spencer said quietly.

"You mean it could be someone who doesn't want to kill us," Boyd replied dryly.

Spencer smiled tightly. "Yeah, that." There was a long pause. "Want me to get the door, Boss?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Boyd said.

Spencer shot him a filthy look as he inched to the door, licking his suddenly dry lips. In a sudden move, he shot his arm out and grabbed the handle. "Shit!" Baby Face exclaimed. "What the hell happened to you?"

Boyd didn't even get the chance to admonish him for language before Mel was shown into the room. "Hello to you too," the blond man said dourly.

"Sorry, Mel, but you look like crap," Spencer replied. "Cigarette? Coffee?"

"Just coffee, thanks."

Boyd studied Mel as he crossed the room and sat down. One of his eyes was puffy and half closed, and there was a large purple-yellow bruise on his jaw, near the corner of his mouth.

"I've been asked by Mrs Foley to inform you that in the early hours of this morning, two men broke into her house and made an attempt on her life," Mel said after Spencer handed him a mug of strong coffee.

Boyd sat up straight. "If this is some sort of…."

Mel held his hand up, and as he lowered it again, they could see scuff marks on his knuckles. "Believe me, it's not." He looked mildly amused. "She said you'd say that, you know."

Boyd grunted. "I'll bet she did. So what happened?"

"I have a room in another part of the house," Mel explained, "But close enough to Mrs Foley's bedroom to hear any unusual noises. She prefers it that way; makes her feel safer. Needless to say, I heard some unusual noises while it was still dark and went to investigate. I found two men in the bedroom. One was trying to smother her with a pillow, the other was just watching, or standing guard. I attacked the one watched from behind and we got into a scuffle. The one trying to smother Mrs Foley heard the noise and came to help his friend. After I'd been smacked around the head a few times, I started to get a little woozy. I think I blacked out for a minute or two, and when I came round, they'd gone."

"How's Mrs Foley?" Spencer asked when it became apparent Boyd was currently incapable of talking. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it hurt and his fists kept curling and uncurling into balls.

"She's alright," Mel replied. "I think they'd only just started, luckily."

"Would you mind stepping outside for a few moments, Mr Silver, please?" Boyd said, his voice quiet.

Mel nodded curtly, rose and left. Spencer lit a cigarette and looked at Boyd. "Well?"

"I was just going to ask you the same thing," The Boss said with a smile.

Spencer pulled a face. "I don't know, Boss. It's going to be risky.

Boyd nodded. "I know, but attacking Mrs Foley was a bad idea. I don't care whether she's a hardened criminal or a gangster's moll or someone's bloody grandmother who wouldn't hurt a fly. She's still a lady."

"I know, Boss, I know how it makes you feel." Spencer shrugged. "It's your call in the end."

Boyd nodded again, slowly this time. "Alright. Go and tell Mr Silver we'll take the job, but neither he nor Mrs Foley is to interfere. If he's got any additional information to this break-in, he can bring it to us during office hours: first think Monday would be good."

"Showing them who's in charge, Boss?" Spencer asked, amused.

"Damn right."

"And Deadpan?"

"Screw him. It'll be a nice surprise on Monday," Boyd said.

Spencer grinned. "I like that."

"I thought you might," Boyd murmured dryly.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*19th September 1938, Morning*

Felix knew something was wrong the moment he put his feet on the agency's steps that morning. He stood still for a few moments, trying to work out what was different. But not being able to notice anything, he carried on up the stairs. It was only when his hand rested on the door handle that Felix knew what it was; there were no cigarettes butts lying around. Someone had swept and washed the steps, and the front door to the agency. That in itself was worrying. Felix knew that neither Boyd nor Spencer could keep house in any shape or form, so the tidying meant one of two things: Boyd had hired someone to do it, which was unlikely; or there had been some sort of bet between The Boss and Baby Face. Looser got to clean the place.

"Morning, Felix," Spencer greeted him, grinning broadly as Felix walked into the room.

Deadpan stopped and scowled. "Right, now I *know* something's not right. Come on, give. What's going on?"

Spencer just blinked and stared. "What are you talking about, Felix?" he asked, looking at his watch. "You been drinking already?"

Deadpan's scowl deepened. "Looking like you and The Boss have been. The outside's been cleaned, there's no dust in here…. Hell, I probably can't even find my coffee cup."

"Outside, in the rubbish bin," Boyd said as he entered the room. "We got new ones. Morning, Felix. And don't blaspheme please."

"Alright, are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Felix asked, sitting down and dragging a hand over his face. "This the twilight zone or something? We going to have vampires crawling out of the woodwork next?"

Boyd looked mildly amused as Spencer answered. "First, wrong time of day for bloodsuckers, unless they're an ex-girlfriend," Baby Face said, causing Boyd to snort the coffee he had been drinking out through his nose, making him choke. His colleagues ignored him. "And secondly, wood would kill a vampire."

"You attached to that face of yours?" Felix asked, glaring at the younger man.

Spencer nodded. "Quite a bit. Why?"

"I thought I'd rearrange it for you," Felix replied, cracking his knuckles.

"When are you two going to grow up?" Boyd asked, shaking his head.

"When you do," Deadpan retorted, before adding a quick, albeit sullen, "Boss."

"We're getting a visitor soon," Spencer said, taking pity on Felix.

Deadpan's eyebrows rose. "Who? A member of the royal family."

Boyd leant against the doorframe to his office. "Not quite," he said, sipping his coffee. "We're taking Mrs Foley's case."

Felix's patented deadpan expression made an appearance. "What?" he asked in a flat voice.

"Someone tried to kill her Friday night," Spencer replied. "Neither me or The Boss liked that."

Felix nodded. "Alright. I'll agree with that. Anything else happen to change your minds?"

"A visit from Cliff Day."

"The Snitch? What did he want?"

"To tell us that he used to work for William Drake, who is also known as Big Bill," Boyd replied calmly.

Felix choked noisily on his coffee. "Are you serious? You want to get into a gangster-on-gangster case? Are you crazy?"

"Only on the weekends," Boyd said.

"Yeah, that makes perfect sense," Felix replied, shaking his head. There was a long, uncomfortable silence in the office before Deadpan spoke again. "I won't do it."

Boyd's eyes hardened and narrowed a fraction. "Pardon?"

Felix held Boyd's gaze. "I said I won't do it. I'm not about to risk my life just because you've got the hots for some woman and you want to impress her. If this is gangster business, then it should stay that way. Mrs Foley should never have tried - well, succeeded, obviously - to involve us."

"Have you finished?" Boyd asked.

"Yes, I have. For now. I don't want to work this case," Deadpan stated firmly. "So you'll just have to fire me."

A knock at the door saved any further discussion. "We'll talk about this later," Boyd said, watching as Spencer crossed the room. "You might not get a choice in the matter."

"Good morning, Mrs Foley, Mel," Spencer greeted the clients. "Please, come in. Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you," Grace replied, smiling.

"Mrs Foley, good to see you're alright," Boyd said, striding forward to shake hands.

Grace just shrugged. "You know how game birds are, Mr Boyd; tough and difficult to kill, especially the old ones."

Both Spencer and Mel had a coughing fit at the same time, the noise sounding suspiciously like laughter, while Felix remained unsmiling, clearly not amused at all. As for Boyd, a number of replies hovered on his lips, but none were appropriate.

Instead, he simply smiled and showed Grace into his office, leaving his colleagues to entertain Mel again.

"I must admit, Mr Boyd, I was surprised to hear from you," Grace said as she sat down.

"Let's not bother with the formalities, shall we, Grace?" Boyd replied, leaning back in his chair. "I'm sure neither of us wishes to be wasting the other's time so let's get straight down to business."

Grace's face hardened. "Tell me, Boyd, is it women in general you don't like or just me?"

"I like women a lot," Boyd said, sitting up a little. "And I like you. But I will not be taken for a fool. I find that honesty from the start works best, don't you?"

"You have a silver tongue, Boyd," Grace replied with a slight smile.

"I hope not. It would be very uncomfortable."

She rolled her eyes at his poor joke. "Luckily for you, I'm a woman who admires forward speaking people."

Boyd smiled. "Good. First things first, the cost. I'll be charging more than our standard rate, not because I think you can afford it, but because of the risks involved. We happen to know that Drake is a gangster, and a rather notorious one at that."

"He's also a successful businessman," Grace said.

"Secondly, you don't keep anything from me again," Boyd continued. "Especially information like that. You knew Drake was a gangster, maybe even a godfather, and you deliberately didn't tell us. The next time that happens, you're on your own no matter what. And if they try to kill you again, it's not my problem."

Grace looked at her watch. "Is this list long? Only I have appointments to keep."

"I'm almost finished." Boyd tried not to smile, but it was difficult. "Your henchman doesn't follow me or either of my colleagues. If there's information to pass on to you, I will do so, but only what I deem relevant to the job you have asked me to do. This agency is not a spy network; if you want to know what Drake is up to, get Mel to tail him. Our job is simply to retrieve your documents without incident or bloodshed."

"I understand," Grace replied. "Let me just say this, Boyd; all I want is the return of my documents. Whatever else you might find during your investigations, keep it to yourself. I don't want to know; I don't care. It is only the documents that are important. As for withholding information, I wanted you to at least consider taking the job first before I told you about William Drake."

Boyd nodded. "Mrs Foley, why would Drake want these documents?"

"That I cannot answer because I don't know," Grace replied, and Boyd knew she was telling the truth. "To him, they are worthless. Meaningless."

"Would they be worth anything to a third party?" Boyd asked. "Do you think Drake intends to sell them?"

Grace smiled and rose. "The first question I can answer: not that I know of. As for the second question, it's your job to find out, remember? Not mine. Good day, Mr Boyd."

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*19th September 1938, Evening*

When Grace had left the office earlier that day, Boyd had sat behind his desk for a while contemplating how best to proceed. Eventually, he stood up and headed for the main room, intent on sorting things out once and for all.

But before he got there, Spencer accosted him. "Felix'll stay and do this job," Baby Face said quietly.

Boyd stared at him. "What did you say?"

"Wasn't me, Boss, I swear," Spencer replied, holding his hands up. "It was Mel. I don't know what was said because I went to the john, but when I came back, Felix said he'd do the job."

Boyd frowned. "You know things like that make me nervous."

"I know, Boss."

"Did you ask Felix why he'd changed his mind?"

Spencer nodded. "And he told me to boil my head, before you ask," he replied.

So Boyd went and asked Felix himself, and received much the same answer, only slightly politer. Now, ten hours later, Boyd was still wondering why Deadpan had changed his mind. It wasn't that he didn't trust his colleague; Boyd simply hated the unknown.

"Boss, can you go over your plan one last time?" Spencer asked, shifting nervously in his seat. Every time he turned his head, the light glinted off his earrings.

Boyd sighed. "It's really simple, Baby Face. I made it that way so you would understand. If you're having trouble with the small words, there's really nothing I can do to help you."

From the driver's seat, Felix snorted. Spencer scowled. "I just want to be sure what we're all doing, that's all. Come on, Boss, can you blame me for being nervous? We're about to go into gang territory with nothing to protect us except some flimsy bit of clothes. Excuse me for being worried about the family jewels as well as my life, you know what I'm saying?"

"They'd have to find them first, Baby Face," Felix said, looking over his shoulder to the backseat. "Don't think they'd bother with something so small it could fit on your earring."

Spencer lurched forward and locked his arm around Felix's neck. "Give me a reason not to snap you in half, Deadpan, you bastard."

Boyd pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let him go, Spence." When Baby Face didn't move, The Boss roared, "LET HIM GO!"

"Christ, Boss, I'm deaf in that ear now," Spencer complained, letting go of Deadpan.

Boyd clipped him round the back of the head. "That's for blaspheming." Then he smacked Felix. "That's for being a bastard. Goddammit, when will you two learn to get on, huh? I swear you're going to be the death of me."

"I think it's more likely you'll be the death of us, Boss," Felix muttered, rubbing his head. "Especially with this suicidal plan of yours."

Boyd flung the passenger door open, climbed out and slammed it shut. "You two are getting a night's worth of free drinks and you're doing nothing but bitching at me!" he said in a loud voice, throwing his hands up in the air. "I swear I don't know what's the matter with you!"

With that, Boyd shoved his hands deep into his trench coat pockets, hunched his broad shoulders up and tipped his head down, his vision obscured by his hat at his stormed off down the street.

Spencer sighed and got out of the car, leaning against it as he lit up a cigarette. "So, basically we're just supposed to go into this club, take a look around, get a look at Drake and any cronies he might have with him, and leave, yeah?"

Felix nodded as he locked the Lagonda. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

"And The Boss is yelling at us because…?"

"You're a pair of arseholes," Boyd snapped, startling them both. "You're not getting paid to talk so get your backsides moving before I acquaint them with my foot."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The Jade Flower was busier than normal when Boyd walked through the doors, his shoulders still hunched, his dark eyes darting everywhere, taking everything in. No one paid him any attention as he took his coat and hat off and hung them in the cloak room, noting how clean the place was.

Boyd picked a table in the corner of the room, ordering a whisky as he passed the bar. Each table had a small lamp on it, giving the feel of being alone in a crowded room. As his drink came, he noticed Spencer walk in, the light glistening off the diamond studs in his ears making them look like water. Boyd watched carefully as Baby Face sat down on a bar stool. A few people glanced his way, then went back to their drinks, obviously unbothered by the presence of the black man.

Boyd immediately relaxed. While he tried not to show it, he was very protective of Spencer simply because he was different and people weren't always so tolerant. Despite what else Drake may have done, the fact that Spencer remained unbothered in his club put him in Boyd's good books.

Felix, however, was another problem. He entered the club about ten minute after Spencer and went straight to the bar as well. He wasn't wearing a coat, but he did have his trilby-style hat on, and he refused to take it off. Boyd could only watch in a mixture of amusement and frustration as Felix was thrown bodily out of the club by two thickset bouncers.

Although Cliff Day hadn't provided Boyd with a description of Drake, it was easy to tell when the man walked into the room, coming from a back part of the club. He greeted several clients on his way to the back of the room, where Boyd noticed a reserved table. Surreptitiously, The Boss watched Drake while sipping his drink, pretending to listen to the singers, who were actually quite good. Boyd silently admitted the club was not what he had expected; it was clean, quite classy, and there were no bullet holes in the furniture, which he had seen a few times before.

Boyd was unsure of the truth about Drake being a gangster until he saw a figure sit down at Drake's table, and then he knew it to be true. The man wasn't known personally to Boyd, but he had seen his picture when he was with the police. Tommy 'The Noose' McQueen was one of the only associate of Big Bill whose full identity was known. Most went by an alias only, including Big Bill himself, which made arresting them next to impossible. But The Noose was proud of himself; his trademark hangings and subsequent carvings into the flesh of the victim were legendary in the most macabre way. It was no wonder Drake kept McQueen so close to him.

But how the police hadn't managed to tie McQueen to Drake, and therefore Big Bill, Boyd didn't know. Unless, of course, his gnawing fear since he was in the force was true; most of the bobbies were as bent as a ten bob note.

Suddenly Boyd felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up, and slowly, casually, he looked around for the pair of eyes that were watching him. Spencer was still at the bar, and when Boyd's gaze reached him, he glanced to the opposite side of the room.

Boyd followed Spencer's subtle direction and when he saw the person Baby Face had spotted, his mouth went dry. Finishing his drink and trying not to draw any attention to himself, Boyd stood, dropped some money on the bar as he passed, collected his coat and hat, and left the club.

Out in the cool night air, he took several deep breaths, idly wondering where Felix was. Suddenly the cold metal of a blade pressed itself against his throat and Boyd froze.

"Who are you?" a voice rasped.

"Who are *you*?" Boyd replied, coming out of his daze. In an instant, he jabbed his assailant in the stomach with his elbow, kicking back with his foot at the same time, connecting with the man's knee.

Boyd whirled, undoing his jacket at the same time, and pulled his .38 Webley revolver from its holster. No doubt if the police knew he still had it, and was using it, his head would be delivered to the chief of police on a silver platter.

"Let's try this again," Boyd said, his arm unnervingly steady. "Who are you?"

The man in front of him was thin with a craggy face that looked worse the wear, either through drink or drugs. He dropped the knife and sneered. "My name don't matter."

"Does to me," Boyd said.

He heard the click before he felt the barrel of the gun pressing painfully behind his ear. "Hello, Boyd."

"Vine," The Boss snarled. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Working for Big Bill, of course," Vine replied.

"I meant when did you get out of prison, you bastard!"

Vine jabbed Boyd with his gun, causing spots to appear in his vision. "You know, Boyd, I owe you so much I don't know how to start repaying you."

"Letting him go would be a good idea," Spencer said, stepping into the complication, his gun trained on Vine.

"You took your time," Boyd said in a strained voice, his weapon still pointing at the craggy man.

Spencer just shrugged. "Needed a leak."

"And you're about to need another."

Spencer closed his eyes. "This isn't funny."

Another man, short and stocky, was now pointing a gun at Spencer. It was like something out of a bad movie. "And who the hell are you?" Boyd snapped, his patience beginning to wear thin, making his trigger finger twitchy.

"No, Boyd, you don't ask any more questions," Vine said. "Tell your boy to put his gun down or I blow your head off."

"I don't think that's going to happen."

Boyd moved his eyes without shifting his head. "Deadpan, where…?"

"Not now, Boss," Felix replied, his gun at Vine's temple. "Now I know you don't care if your henchmen get popped, but I'm better your own life's important to you. Tell dumb and dumber to drop their weapons and leave, and I won't kill you."

Vine ground his teeth together. "Do it!" he barked in a hoarse voice.

"But, Eddie…," the man behind Spencer said.

"You got water in your ears or what, Charlie?" Vine snapped. "Just do it!"

Charlie grumbled, let the hammer down gentle on his gun and set it on the floor. "And your other friend," Felix said, pressing the muzzle against Vine's temple.

"He ain't carrying!" Vine protested, yelling in pain when Deadpan jabbed him again. "Alright, alright. Do it, Tony."

Felix nodded. "Good. Now, run along."

Soon there were only the four of them and Vine was sweating profusely as he was seriously outnumbered. "You're going to regret this!" he said.

Boyd stepped up to him and looked down, his dark eyes boring into Vine's. "No, what I regret is handing you over to the police, believing they'd rip you to shreds not protect you. I should have realised all that 'bent bobbies get the worst treatment' line was crap; there's no such thing as an honest policeman any more."

"Do your worst, Boyd," Vine spat. "I'm not scared of you."

"Don't worry, Eddie. I won't kill you. I like you roaming free." Boyd wrenched the gun out of his hand. "Go on now, there's a good boy. Oh, and I'll leave these close by for you and your friends to pick up in the morning."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The Jade Flower was mostly dark now, closed for business but there was still a single light on. Drake sat looking relaxed, his features cast softly in the glow. His favourite singer approached and he smiled at her.

"I have a little job for you," he said.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*22nd September 1938, Afternoon*

Boyd had been in a foul mood since his encounter with Vine and his new cronies, and Felix and Spencer spent as much time avoiding him as they could. That afternoon, however, enforced residence in the office was unavoidable due to the abysmal weather outside.

"Remind me again," Spencer said, staring at the ceiling as he blew smoke rings, "Why do we need a secretary?"

Boyd balled a piece of paper up and hurled it at him, hitting him squarely on the temple. "Shut up, Baby Face."

"What? That was a legit question!" Spencer protested.

Boyd ground a knuckle into his right eye. "Because Felix can't make coffee for shit, and you always complain when you have to do it, and I'm the boss and shouldn't have to make coffee. Because this place always looks like a pig sty…."

"Pigs are actually very clean," Felix interrupted.

Boyd's second paper bomb hit Deadpan in the neck. "It's a good job these are only paper or you'd both be dead," The Boss snapped. "As I was saying, this place always looks like a bull just tore through it, and it's not good for business. We need someone who can type as well, seeing as neither of you can."

"Can!" Spencer replied indignantly.

"Fine. You don't do it well, Baby Face, how's that? Look, the decision is final. The advert's already out. Now we just need someone to reply. And when we do get people inquiring about the job, I want both you on your best behaviour. Got it?" Boyd shook his head. "I swear you two are harder work than kids. Anyone would think I was asking you to swim naked with piranhas, not make your lives easier!"

"I think what Baby Face is trying to say, in his usual Neanderthal way," Felix said, "Is that we're not entirely comfortable having another person around, especially someone we don't know, especially during this case. After all, most of what we're doing right now is illegal."

Boyd grunted. "Believe me, that's the last thing on my mind. I'm more worried about messing a case up because the paperwork isn't in order! Anyway, the advert's been out for days and no one's turned up yet."

"Not surprised," Spencer muttered.

"Meaning?" Boyd asked sharply.

"Let's face it, if someone was interested, they'd have taken one look at Deadpan's ugly mug and decided they'd rather suck eggs for a living," Spencer said, stubbing his cigarette out.

"*My* ugly mug?" Felix retorted incredulously. "Have you looked in a mirror lately? Oh, wait, you break mirrors by looking at them, don't you?"

"Cut it out, you two," Boyd said wearily. "Any progress naming Vine's new friends?"

Felix nodded, tearing his glaring gaze away from Spencer, who was busy ignoring him anyway. "On one of them, yeah," Deadpan replied. "When I went out for lunch, one of my contacts handed me this." He rifled around his desk and came up with a torn piece of paper. "Vine called one of them Charlie, right?"

Boyd nodded. "That's right."

"My contact thinks it's most like Charles 'Charlie' Hoyle. Used to be a doctor, apparently, but something happened to make him do a complete turnaround."

Spencer shook his head. "I'd say. From mending people to dismembering them. Nice."

"No one said anything about dismemberment, Baby Face," Boyd told him, frowning.

Spencer just shrugged. "He's killing them now instead of making them better, ain't he? Don't matter how he does it."

Boyd rolled his eyes and shook his head. "What else do we have on Hoyle?"

"That's about it," Felix replied. "My contact said that little's known about him this side of the fence. Suppose we could find out anything we wanted to about him when he was a doctor."

"Get on it," Boyd ordered.

"Actually, I'm waiting for some more info on our thorns," Felix said.

Boyd shrugged. "Fine. Spencer, dig around for anything on a Dr Hoyle."

"Sure thing, Boss."

"What? No arguments?"

"Is there any point?" Spencer asked.

Boyd smiled and shook his head. "No."

"There you go then." Spencer stood and crossed the room to pick his jacket up. "I won't be long."

Boyd retreated silently to his office and settling himself into a comfortable position, spent a couple of hours on the telephone. Spencer returned before he had finished and close to finishing time, Boyd went back into the main room.

"Almost home time, boys," he said. "You want to stick around for a while?"

Felix nodded. "Baby Face has turned up some interesting stuff."

"Let's hear it," Boyd said, sitting down and putting his feet up on a table.

"Dr Charles Hoyle was a well respected member of the medical practice until a couple of years ago," Spencer read off a sheet of paper. "Then there was a complaint made against him, a serious one of neglect through drinking."

"He was struck off because of it," Boyd stated.

But Spencer shook his head. "Nope. The complaint was dropped, but then about four months after that, Hoyle 'retired'. Apparently there was a large settlement involved; if he walked, he got the money and got to keep his reputation."

Boyd whistled. "How did you find that out?"

"Talkative morgue attendant," Spencer replied, pulling his cigarettes out. "Seems he knows every dirty little secret of every doctor and nurse this side of London."

"And how much did it cost you?" Boyd asked, pulling a face.

Spencer grinned. "Don't worry, Boss, it was cheap."

"Why?" Felix asked suspiciously.

"Morgue attendant's black."

Boyd grinned. "Knew you'd come in useful for something, brother," he said, leaning across the table and catching Spencer's hand in his.

Felix rolled his eyes. "Tell The Boss who made the complaint."

"A Mrs Grace Foley," Spencer said. "Apparently Hoyle was her husband's doctor, but she didn't like the treatment he received from Hoyle one time."

"What for?" Boyd asked.

"Gun shot wound. Mr Foley died some time after that," Spencer replied.

"Shit!" Boyd exclaimed, dropping his feet to the floor as he sat up straight. "What the hell else isn't she telling us?"

"Don't know, Boss, but my contact got back to me," Felix said, taking over. "Seems the other guy with Vine is a Tony Greene. Don't ask me anything else because I don't know, and neither does my contact. All he could tell me was that Greene and Hoyle seemed to be joined at the hip."

"Partners in crime, eh?" Boyd asked.

"I think it's more than that. Apparently they're never apart," Felix replied. "And I mean *never*."

Spencer's eyes almost popped out of his head. "Queers?" he exclaimed, his voice strangling in his throat.

Boyd trained a stern gaze on him. "It's not unheard of, Baby Face."

"Yeah, but…two guys!" Spencer spluttered. "I mean, come on, Boss!"

"You know, Spencer, that attitude is no better than those who call you 'boy' and not like I do," Boyd said gravely. "You're different; so are Hoyle and Greene. So maybe they're queer and maybe they're twin bloody brothers. What difference does it make?"

Spencer glowered, but remained silent as he chewed over Boyd's words. "Anyway," Felix continued unfazed, "My source didn't say how Vine got mixed up with them, but he was pretty certain that for Vine, it was all cold, hard business."

Boyd grunted. "That sounds about right."

"What did you turn up, Boss?" Spencer asked, his tone more respectful than normal.

Boyd knew what that meant; Baby Face had taken his words into consideration and realised he was right. "Turns out Vine was released due to most people who made statements against him retracting them." He pulled a face. "I think I was right; the police force is more corrupt than the bloody government. Seems I'm not flavour of the month any more, and I'm beginning to doubt I ever was."

"So we can count the bobbies out for help?" Felix asked.

"Exactly."

Spencer opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out, his eyes drawn to the front door. Boyd was about to ask what was wrong when he saw Felix do the same, and out of curiosity, he turned to see what they were looking at.

"Monsieur Boyd?"

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I'm just borrowing things for a while and I promise I'll put everything back exactly how I found it when I've finished. Well, almost exactly how I found it. ;)

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*22nd September 1938, Afternoon*

Spencer didn't seem to realise the woman was staring right at him, as though she had been addressing me. Slowly, comprehension dawned on him and he stuttered, shaking his head and pointing to his left. The woman looked at Felix.

"Monsieur Boyd?"

Felix also seemed to be having trouble speaking. Finally Boyd tired of the theatrics. "I'm Boyd. You are?"

"My name is Stella Goodman," she replied, stretching her hand out. "I'm here about the secretary job."

"I see," Boyd said slowly, taking her hand after a heartbeat's hesitation. "You're French?"

Stella's expression hardened immediately, as though she was used to such prejudiced thoughts. "My father was English. I have been raised in England."

"It was simply a question," Boyd said mildly. "That's my job. I ask questions. I did wonder how your English was so good."

Stella smiled, blushing a little. "Thank you."

"Alright, come into my office and we'll take a look at your references." Boyd turned to his colleagues, both of whom were still looking a little shell-shocked. "One of you make some coffee, please." He looked back at Stella. "This way."

As soon as Boyd's office door shut, it was like the spell had been shattered. "I'll make the coffee," Felix said straight away.

Spencer barked a laugh. "First time for everything, and no, you bloody well won't. Your coffee tastes like tar or axle grease. I'll make it."

Felix scowled. "Bastard."

"Look, I'm not about to start a fight with you over a pretty woman," Spencer said, sighing. "I'll make the coffee, you can take it in. Whether you then want to take credit for it is up to you. And depending on whether she likes it or not."

Felix squinted as though looking for loopholes in the plan. "You're almost out of cigarettes. I'll buy you a packet later."

Spencer looked surprised. "Thanks."

"Just make sure that coffee's good," Felix retorted, sitting back down at his desk.

In Boyd's office, he smiled at the young woman opposite him. It was easy to see why his colleagues had been rendered speechless by her. Stella was taller than Felix, though not quite as tall as Spencer, and slender, with red hair worn in a bob and bright blue-green eyes. She moved with exquisite grace and despite her youthfulness, Boyd could see a hardness about her, a feisty quality he admired. But he could also see she was naïve and a little shy, all of which helped him to make his decision before he started talking to her.

"So, what we're looking for is someone who will type up the case notes and keep the folders in order," Boyd explained. "And to keep the place tidy. I know that's a tall order especially with three men working in here."

Stella shrugged and smiled. "I have brothers. I understand."

"Good. Your job would also include sorting the mail and opening all letters except personal ones," Boyd continued. "I'll show you which those are when the post arrives. Answering the telephone, taking notes about potential clients if we're not around. Oh, and Spencer and I live upstairs. Cheaper rent. Under no circumstances whatsoever are you to go upstairs, except if someone dies. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Stella asked, obviously a little confused. "Do you want to see my references?"

Boyd shook his head. "Not really."

She looked crestfallen. "Oh. I see. Well, thank you, Mr Boyd…."

"I don't want to see them because I've already decided to offer you the job," he continued as though she hadn't spoken.

"Really?" Stella asked, surprised.

Boyd nodded. "Apart from the fact that you're the only person to have applied for the job, I think you'll fit in quite well. That's if you want…."

"Yes, I do, sir. Thank you."

"Call me Mr Boyd," he replied. "'Sir' is a title I don't deserve. Though if you're here long enough, you might pick up their...." He gestured outside towards Felix and Spencer. "...habit of calling me 'Boss'. I don't mind that." Boyd stood up. "I'll introduce you to the rest of the team."

He opened the door to find Felix there holding two mugs. "I was just bringing you these," Deadpan said.

"Thanks." Boyd took both mugs and handed one to Stella.

She smiled and took a sip, her face immediately contorting. "Merde!" Stella exclaimed, and then blushed. "Sorry."

"That's alright," Boyd said in an amused tone. "I've not idea what you just said, but I don't think it was good."

"This is…a little strong."

Boyd grinned. "Delicately put."

"I made it," Felix volunteered before Spencer could say anything.

Boyd could tell the difference between Deadpan's coffee and Baby Face's, and he knew straight away that Felix was lying. But from the look on Spencer's face, there was something going on Boyd didn't know about so he kept quiet.

Stella immediately looked horrified. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…. Everybody makes it differently, that's all. I'm sure with all your other work, you don't have time to…do this properly." She gestured with the mug. "Would you allow me to…?"

"Certainly," Felix replied with a stiff smile.

"Don't worry, he's like that all the time," Spencer offered when Stella still looked worried.

"Time for introductions, I think," Boyd said. "This is Spencer 'Baby Face' Jordan, and this is Felix 'Deadpan' Gibson. This is our new secretary, Stella Goodman." He looked at the redhead. "Do you have a nickname we should know about?"

After the briefest of hesitations, Stella shook her head. "At least none that I'm willing to share just yet."

Spencer laughed. "That's the spirit. Whatever you do, give as good as you get with us and you'll be fine."

"I'll keep that in mind." Stella turned to Boyd. "Do I understand correctly that I am in charge of keeping the office tidy?"

Boyd nodded. "You do," he replied in a cautious tone.

"So I have authority in that area?"

"I suppose."

"Good." Stella looked squarely at Spencer. "Smoking outside only, not inside, and if you must smoke inside, do it with the fan on. Ash and ends in the ash tray and no other place."

Spencer's eyes widened in shock and Felix grinned in appreciation. "That told you," Deadpan muttered with glee.

Then Stella turned on him. "Food leftovers in the bin outside. Any other rubbish in the bin in here. It isn't too far for you to get up and walk to it rather than throwing it and missing."

Felix's grin turned to a scowl. "Anything else?" Boyd asked.

Stella appeared to think about it, then shook her head. "No, Mr Boyd."

"Good." He looked at Spencer and Felix. "Get a desk set up for Miss Goodman and help her to settle in, but behave yourselves."

"Where are you going, Boss?" Spencer asked. "It's closing time for us!"

"To see Mrs Foley to give her an update on the case and ask her about Hoyle," Boyd replied, retreating into his office long enough to grab his coat and hat. "I'll be back later. Just help Stella settled in and then you can all go." As he went out of the front door, they heard his voice drift back. "And don't let them give you any 'merde', Stella!"

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*22nd September 1938, Evening*

Boyd's eyes widened for a fraction of a second as they fell on the mystery woman before narrowing dramatically. His gaze, so piercing in its intensity, shifted to Felix and then Spencer, both of whom looked as though they wished the ground would simply swallow them up whole.

"What the *hell* is going on?" Boyd asked, the fury in his voice barely contained.

"I can explain, Boss," Spencer replied.

"You'd bloody well better before I knock your heads together!" Boyd shouted back, looking at Baby Face and then Felix.

Deadpan scowled, as usual. "I didn't want to stay."

"Then why did you?" Boyd snapped. "And don't think for one minute you're getting paid overtime for this little frivolous get together."

Felix's scowl deepened. "I wouldn't dream of it. In fact, now you're back from, ah, bringing the client 'up to speed', I'm going home." He stood and stalked across the room to where his coat was hung up. "And for your information, *Boss*, I didn't leave because I didn't trust Spencer alone with these two. God knows what he might have told them if I wasn't here."

"Don't blaspheme," Boyd said absently, his gaze back once again on the mystery woman. "You did right, Deadpan. Stella, do you need someone to drive you home?"

Stella looked petrified. "No, it's alright, thank you. I can walk."

Boyd nodded. "Off you go. Be here before nine in the morning to start work."

"Yes, sir. I mean Mr Boyd. Goodnight." Stella quickly collected her things and left the office with Felix not far behind her.

"Spencer, upstairs, now," Boyd ordered.

Baby Face looked indignant. "I'm not a kid…."

"MOVE!" Boyd roared. "You have no idea who this woman is and you just let her in here…."

"She's here about the secretary job!" Spencer shouted back before The Boss could finish his sentence.

"Didn't you tell her it was already taken?"

"Well, I thought that…you know…maybe you weren't just going to hire the first person who walked through the doors."

Boyd stared at him incredulously. "Stella was the *only* person to walk through the doors, you idiot! And she has excellent references!"

"So does Eve!" Spencer told him.

The silence that followed hung in the air like a heavy lead weight. "I had already made a decision as to who we would hire," Boyd said flatly. "You don't question my decisions again or I'll throw you out. Stella is the new secretary, end of story."

"But…."

"You're too easily swayed by a pretty face, Baby Face!" Boyd yelled. "You don't think!"

Spencer frowned. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning don't you think it's strange that two women show up for the same job on the same day, and one of them chooses to do it after hours?" Boyd asked. "You're supposed to be a detective, man; use your head!"

"Excuse me, but perhaps you'd like to continue this discussion in private."

Boyd glared at the woman. She was exactly Spencer's type; slender build, long black hair, mysterious and sexy, and a smoker to boot. "Do you have a second name to go with Eve?" The Boss asked bitingly.

Eve seemed to be amused by his attitude. "Lockhart. Miss, to you."

Boyd seemed to tense up and looked on the verge of exploding, but he held himself in check with great effort. "Well, Miss Lockhart, thank you for stopping by, but as you can see, the job is no longer available."

"Oh, your colleagues were quick to point that out to me when I arrived," she said, her voice deep and sultry. "Not that it was necessary, of course. I could see the position had already been filled, and I was ready to leave when this nice young gentleman offered me a drink." Eve smiled at Spencer, who blushed, ignoring Boyd's scowls thrown in his direction. "He was entertaining me with some rather colourful stories about the job while his sullen friend scowled and flirted rather clumsily with that girl you just hired."

Now Boyd was staring furiously at Spencer. "What did you…?"

"Oh, don't worry, Mr Boyd," Eve said soothingly. "He didn't tell me any of your dirty little secrets."

"Good," Boyd replied through gritted teeth. "Now if you would be so kind." He gestured to the front door, making it perfectly clear what he wanted.

Eve just smiled. "Of course. Good evening, Mr Jordan," she said to Spencer, flashing him a special smile.

Spencer just spluttered a little as he waved. Boyd followed Eve to the door and out on to the steps. "Don't call again," he said flatly.

"Now now, there's no need to be like that. I could be a great help to you."

"How?"

Eve gave him her most winsome smile. "That would be telling, Mr Boyd, and since you clearly don't want me around, I shan't bother telling you." She then made a point of looking over his shoulder. "I don't suppose I could have a light before I go, could I, Mr Jordan?"

Spencer's arm appeared over Boyd's shoulder as he lit Eve's cigarette. Together the two men watched silently as she walked across the street to a waiting car, hips swaying from side to side.

"A walk like that should be illegal," Spencer muttered, shaking his head. "And who the hell has their own driver anyway?"

"Someone very important or rich," Boyd replied.

"Meaning government or gangster," Spencer said, apparently disgusted with himself. "I am such an idiot."

"Yes, you are," Boyd agreed. "But you're young. It'll have worn off by the time you're my age."

Spencer grunted. "If I live that long."

"Whisky?" Boyd asked.

"Yeah."

They went back inside and as Spencer locked up, Boyd poured them each a drink, their recent screaming match apparently forgotten. "It was a Bentley," Boyd said as they sat down. "Dark green, I think, not black. Unusual colour. 4 ¼ litre engine, VDP Style Tourer, I reckon."

Spencer looked impressed. "Didn't know you knew so much about cars, Boss."

Boyd just shrugged. "Part of the job, isn't it?"

"Reckon she was really here for the job?" Spencer asked after a while.

"We'll never know now. We won't see her again," Boyd said with more confidence than he felt. Deep down he knew they hadn't seen the last of the mysterious Eve Lockhart.

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*22nd September 1938, Evening*

Boyd's eyes widened for a fraction of a second as they fell on the mystery woman before narrowing dramatically. His gaze, so piercing in its intensity, shifted to Felix and then Spencer, both of whom looked as though they wished the ground would simply swallow them up whole.

"What the *hell* is going on?" Boyd asked, the fury in his voice barely contained.

"I can explain, Boss," Spencer replied.

"You'd bloody well better before I knock your heads together!" Boyd shouted back, looking at Baby Face and then Felix.

Deadpan scowled, as usual. "I didn't want to stay."

"Then why did you?" Boyd snapped. "And don't think for one minute you're getting paid overtime for this little frivolous get together."

Felix's scowl deepened. "I wouldn't dream of it. In fact, now you're back from, ah, bringing the client 'up to speed', I'm going home." He stood and stalked across the room to where his coat was hung up. "And for your information, *Boss*, I didn't leave because I didn't trust Spencer alone with these two. God knows what he might have told them if I wasn't here."

"Don't blaspheme," Boyd said absently, his gaze back once again on the mystery woman. "You did right, Deadpan. Stella, do you need someone to drive you home?"

Stella looked petrified. "No, it's alright, thank you. I can walk."

Boyd nodded. "Off you go. Be here before nine in the morning to start work."

"Yes, sir. I mean Mr Boyd. Goodnight." Stella quickly collected her things and left the office with Felix not far behind her.

"Spencer, upstairs, now," Boyd ordered.

Baby Face looked indignant. "I'm not a kid…."

"MOVE!" Boyd roared. "You have no idea who this woman is and you just let her in here…."

"She's here about the secretary job!" Spencer shouted back before The Boss could finish his sentence.

"Didn't you tell her it was already taken?"

"Well, I thought that…you know…maybe you weren't just going to hire the first person who walked through the doors."

Boyd stared at him incredulously. "Stella was the *only* person to walk through the doors, you idiot! And she has excellent references!"

"So does Eve!" Spencer told him.

The silence that followed hung in the air like a heavy lead weight. "I had already made a decision as to who we would hire," Boyd said flatly. "You don't question my decisions again or I'll throw you out. Stella is the new secretary, end of story."

"But…."

"You're too easily swayed by a pretty face, Baby Face!" Boyd yelled. "You don't think!"

Spencer frowned. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning don't you think it's strange that two women show up for the same job on the same day, and one of them chooses to do it after hours?" Boyd asked. "You're supposed to be a detective, man; use your head!"

"Excuse me, but perhaps you'd like to continue this discussion in private."

Boyd glared at the woman. She was exactly Spencer's type; slender build, long black hair, mysterious and sexy, and a smoker to boot. "Do you have a second name to go with Eve?" The Boss asked bitingly.

Eve seemed to be amused by his attitude. "Lockhart. Miss, to you."

Boyd seemed to tense up and looked on the verge of exploding, but he held himself in check with great effort. "Well, Miss Lockhart, thank you for stopping by, but as you can see, the job is no longer available."

"Oh, your colleagues were quick to point that out to me when I arrived," she said, her voice deep and sultry. "Not that it was necessary, of course. I could see the position had already been filled, and I was ready to leave when this nice young gentleman offered me a drink." Eve smiled at Spencer, who blushed, ignoring Boyd's scowls thrown in his direction. "He was entertaining me with some rather colourful stories about the job while his sullen friend scowled and flirted rather clumsily with that girl you just hired."

Now Boyd was staring furiously at Spencer. "What did you…?"

"Oh, don't worry, Mr Boyd," Eve said soothingly. "He didn't tell me any of your dirty little secrets."

"Good," Boyd replied through gritted teeth. "Now if you would be so kind." He gestured to the front door, making it perfectly clear what he wanted.

Eve just smiled. "Of course. Good evening, Mr Jordan," she said to Spencer, flashing him a special smile.

Spencer just spluttered a little as he waved. Boyd followed Eve to the door and out on to the steps. "Don't call again," he said flatly.

"Now now, there's no need to be like that. I could be a great help to you."

"How?"

Eve gave him her most winsome smile. "That would be telling, Mr Boyd, and since you clearly don't want me around, I shan't bother telling you." She then made a point of looking over his shoulder. "I don't suppose I could have a light before I go, could I, Mr Jordan?"

Spencer's arm appeared over Boyd's shoulder as he lit Eve's cigarette. Together the two men watched silently as she walked across the street to a waiting car, hips swaying from side to side.

"A walk like that should be illegal," Spencer muttered, shaking his head. "And who the hell has their own driver anyway?"

"Someone very important or rich," Boyd replied.

"Meaning government or gangster," Spencer said, apparently disgusted with himself. "I am such an idiot."

"Yes, you are," Boyd agreed. "But you're young. It'll have worn off by the time you're my age."

Spencer grunted. "If I live that long."

"Whisky?" Boyd asked.

"Yeah."

They went back inside and as Spencer locked up, Boyd poured them each a drink, their recent screaming match apparently forgotten. "It was a Bentley," Boyd said as they sat down. "Dark green, I think, not black. Unusual colour. 4 ¼ litre engine, VDP Style Tourer, I reckon."

Spencer looked impressed. "Didn't know you knew so much about cars, Boss."

Boyd just shrugged. "Part of the job, isn't it?"

"Reckon she was really here for the job?" Spencer asked after a while.

"We'll never know now. We won't see her again," Boyd said with more confidence than he felt. Deep down he knew they hadn't seen the last of the mysterious Eve Lockhart.

TBC


	13. Chapter 13

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th September 1938, Morning*

Despite their initial success with the case, after hiring Stella and the strange visit by Eve Lockhart, everything seemed to grind to a halt. Short of breaking into Drake's house, Boyd and his colleagues could find no evidence that he even had the documents Grace accused him of stealing. Stella had suggest, before the weekend, simply asking Drake; after Boyd had glared at her, she decided to refrain from making any more suggestions of any kind.

The office was cleaner than it had ever been, and Boyd had set a large notice board up against one wall so they could pin notes about the case to it. So far all they had were five names - William 'Big Bill' Drake, Tommy 'The Noose' McQueen, Edward 'Eddie' Vine, Charles 'Charlie' Hoyle, and Anthony 'Tony' Greene - missing documents, a line connecting Grace with Hoyle, and then a final line connecting Boyd with Vine.

Felix had been digging up information over the weekend and that Monday morning, he stood in front of the board to explain what he had found. "This McQueen fellow is a nasty piece of work," he started. "It seems he's been accused of more murders and mutilations than anyone else on record, but the police have never been able to make anything stick."

Boyd grunted. "That doesn't surprise me, knowing what a bent bunch of buggers they are." He gestured to McQueen's name. "I never came across him in the force, but I heard rumours. Even the bent coppers didn't like him, I think that's one reason why they never tried to hard to have him convicted."

"Do you know anything else about him?" Felix asked, and Boyd shook his head. "Well, another reason nothing ever stuck to him was because of another gangster's similar methods. This guy calls himself The Blade and we know next to shit about him."

"Is that anything like nothing?" Spencer asked with a grin.

Felix glared at him. "Put it this way, Baby Face, compared to The Blade, we know Drake's whole history."

Spencer gave a low whistle while Boyd leant forward. "Alright, so we know Drake keeps some tough company," The Boss said. "And we know he hired Hoyle because of his vendetta against Grace."

"Well, we don't *know* that, Boss," Felix replied, sitting down. "But it's a pretty good assumption."

"And Drake hired Vine…why?"

Spencer took a cigarette out and lit it with a thoughtful expression on his face. "What if Drake hired Vine *after* Mrs Foley's hired us to investigate? Maybe he thinks Vine will be an added thorn in your side, Boss."

Boyd grunted again. "He's not wrong."

"There's something else, Boss," Spencer said, blowing smoke rings at the ceiling and ignoring Stella's scowls from across the room. "The lock on Mrs Foley's front door is a good one. Neither Vine, Hoyle or Greene look like the type to be up for picking it without leaving a mark."

Boyd turned to look at him. "What are you saying? The lock wasn't forced?"

"We never even suspected Mel," Spencer said, his eyes half hooded, giving him a sinister expression. "He'd have a key to the house, and if Mrs Foley was at dinner, he would have had plenty of time to go back to the house, steal whatever needed stealing and then just leave the front door open when he left."

But Felix looked sceptical. "What, and hope no one else went in? I can't see that happening."

"Maybe he got Hoyle or Greene to watch out," Spencer suggested.

But Felix was shaking his head. "I can't see it," he repeated. "If Mel was involved, he wouldn't have stopped those two goons from trying to kill Mrs Foley, would he?"

"It's just a suggestion, Deadpan," Boyd said, interrupting any further arguing. "A legitimate line of enquiry we need to follow up, so, Spencer, you do that. See if our dear Mr Silver has any connection to the criminal underworld." He twisted in his seat. "Make us some coffee, would you, Stella?"

"Yes, Mr Boyd," Stella replied.

Despite it only being her second day on the job, Stella had fitted in very well at the Old 'N Cold Detective Agency. As soon as she arrived in the morning, she made coffee, the smell of which usually brought Boyd and Spencer rushing downstairs. Stella also made breakfast for them, which only consisted of toast but it was one less thing they had to do. She had also spent most of the previous Friday, her first day on the job, tidying the place up and putting the files in some kind of order. Boyd had taken a quick look at the system over the weekend and couldn't make heads nor tails of it, but as long as Stella knew exactly where everything was, he didn't care.

"Grace still won't say what was stolen, so we're going to have to try and work it out for ourselves," Boyd continued.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. "Grace is it now?"

"Shut up," Boyd grumbled. "She said that they would be worthless to Drake. She also said that she didn't think Drake had stolen them personally, but ordered someone to do it, which would make sense given what we know about him. Firstly, if they're worthless to Big Bill Drake, why would he order someone to steal them? Secondly, how can Mrs Foley be so sure Drake is behind the theft if the documents are worthless to him?"

Felix shrugged. "So she lied about one of the details. Thanks, Stella," he said, smiling at the redhead, who promptly blushed.

"Well done for spotting the obvious," Spencer murmured dryly. "We just have to find out which bit Mrs Foley lied about."

Boyd sat back in his chair. "We need to find out why she's so certain Drake was being the theft. And we need to think of something that would be particularly damaging to her."

"Evidence of an affair?" Spencer suggested. "Something that would make her lose all the money she inherited when her husband died."

"If that's the case, it's possible she had her husband murdered," Felix said.

"That's a little out there, Deadpan. Let's bring it back in a bit, yeah?" Boyd replied. "So we've got evidence of an affair as one theory. What about documentation showing her husband was a gangster? That was well would mean she'd lose her income."

"It still comes down to money," Felix said with a shrug.

Boyd grunted; it seemed to be his Monday morning thing. "Doesn't it always? The problem is, Mrs Foley is not likely to divulge the contents of the documents to us, so we're just going to have to continue working in the dark."

Spencer was staring at the wall. "How the hell do we know which documents are hers?"

"Pardon?"

"How do we know which documents belong to Mrs Foley? I mean say we break into Big Bill's house and find a load of papers," Spencer said. "How the hell do we know what we're looking for to retrieve?"

Felix nodded. "Damn good point, Baby Face."

Boyd ran a hand through his hair. "I'll talk with Mrs Foley, see if I can at least find out some identifying mark or something so we know what we're looking for."

Spencer looked around and lowered his voice a little. "We should speak to Drake, you know."

"I know, but I'm not looking forward to it," Boyd replied.

There was a knock at the door and all three stopped to watch Stella answer it. "Hello? Oh, come in." She looked at Boyd. "It's a Mr Silver for you, Boss."

Boyd smiled slightly. "Thanks, Stella. Mel, what can I do for you?"

Mel inclined his head. "Mrs Foley has asked that you join her for lunch. She has some things she wishes to discuss with you."

Boyd nodded, unsurprised. "Alright. Where can I meet her?"

"She asked that I drive you."

"I'm not sure I like that idea," Boyd said, his eyes narrowing.

Mel just shrugged. "You don't get a choice, Mr Boyd."

"No, somehow I didn't think I would. I take it we're going now?"

Mel nodded. "Yes."

Boyd looked from Felix to Spencer. "I'll see you later."

"Boss, do you want us…?" Spencer started to ask.

Boyd shook his head. "No, too dangerous. Don't like the idea of it at all, but it'd be better the three of us. No, you just enjoy lunch. Treat Stella to something but don't bankrupt us." He looked at Mel. "Alright, Mr Silver, lead the way."

TBC


	14. Chapter 14

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th September 1938, Afternoon*

Boyd wasn't at all surprised when Mel pulled out outside one of the most expensive restaurants in London. As he climbed out of the black and blue limousine, Boyd looked down at himself critically.

"You couldn't have given me time to change, could you?" he asked Mel, an edge to his voice.

"Mrs Foley doesn't like to be kept waiting," Mel replied.

"I don't care what Mrs Foley likes or doesn't," Boyd said, thinking that his statement wasn't *exactly* true. "You've brought me to a place where walking through the door alone'll cost you a monkey."

Mel stared in slight amusement at him. "A monkey, Mr Boyd? I thought that was another word for those large amounts of money the police were given on a regular basis."

Boyd took a step forward angrily. "Don't you *dare* suggest I'm bent! I never took a bribe in my life!"

"Never said you did," Mel replied. "Just pointing out that 'a monkey' doesn't necessarily mean a lot of money, as you meant it to."

"Where is she?" Boyd all but growled, his dark eyes clouding even more as he tried to contain his temper.

Mel flinched ever so slightly. "Table at the back, left corner. I doubt you'll be able to miss her."

"And you'll be here to take me back to work afterward? Or am I walking?"

"That all depends on the boss, Mr Boyd, and I don't mean you."

Before Boyd could succumb to the urge to hit Mel, the blond man climbed back into the car and drove off. Swearing heavily under his breath, Boyd waited a few moments before entering the restaurant. It wasn't the first time he had been in an expensive place; it was one of the few treats he granted himself, especially as he didn't have a mortgage to pay or a family to support.

But earlier in the year, after a very successful case and an extremely generous client, Boyd had decided to forgo his treats in favour of a new car, and he had happily bought the new Lagonda. Now, though, as he walked slowly across the floor, trying hard to ignore the looks of the people at the tables, Boyd wasn't sure he made the right decision, trading such indulgences for a hunk of metal and machinery.

"Ah, Mr Boyd, thank you for coming," Grace said, standing as he reached the table.

For a moment Boyd found himself speechless. He had no idea what material Grace's dress was made out of, but it clung to her like a second skin, but in a very classy way. The shawl she wore around her shoulders looked far too thin to ward off any chill, and Boyd suspected she was only wearing it to hide the rather indecent amount of shoulder that was showing.

But what was drawing Boyd's attention was the colour of the garment. It was a shade lighter than midnight blue, and the material had a sheen to it that accentuated Grace's curves. Surprisingly, he didn't notice this; all he could focus on were the two deep blue orbs that were Grace's eyes. Like sapphires sparkling in the sun, Boyd found himself drowning in their depth and with a start, he realised she'd captured him without even trying.

To cover his rather long hesitation, Boyd scowled. "Did I have a choice?" he asked in reply to her question.

Grace simply smiled. "Mel can interpret my requests as summons at times. It's a failing of his."

"Top of the list, I'd say," Boyd replied.

"At least sit down and have a drink before we start arguing."

Boyd grudgingly gave in at that point. "All right." He waited until she had seated herself before lowering himself onto a chair. "So, what did you want to see me about?"

"Nothing, actually," Grace said. "I just thought you might like a spot of lunch."

Every alarm bell that existed in Boyd's head started ringing and his finely honed detective skills told him something was seriously wrong, but before he could say anything else, a waiter arrived to take their drinks order.

"Now I realise that if you had found anything out, you would have been to see me, so I assume that your absence from my presence means you haven't found anything," Grace said quickly.

Boyd looked at her incredulously. "Do you always use such long winded speech? What happened to simplicity?"

"As in?"

"As in 'do you have any news for me?' or 'have you got anything to tell me?'" Boyd replied, sipping his newly arrived whisky. "I'm a simple man, Mrs Foley. Big words confuse me."

Grace opted not to answer that statement. "All right, have you any news for me?"

"No."

"I didn't think so."

"Mrs Foley…."

"Grace, please," she said, smiling at him. "And please don't ask me about the documents again. If I could tell you what was in them, I would."

"Why can't you?" Boyd asked.

Grace's smile grew. "I don't trust you enough."

"Have you ever trusted anyone enough?"

"Only my husband knew the contents of those folders," Grace replied, her smile slipping. "Please, let's talk about something else. How is business?"

"Slow. Which is why I took your case," Boyd said. "Retrieving missing papers from dead gangsters' wives is not what we normally do."

"So you've already told me."

Boyd smirked a little at her suddenly cold tone. "You know, Grace, I really can't get a bead on you. One minute you're hotter than July and sweeter than honey…."

"Pathetic," she muttered.

"And the next minute," Boyd continued unperturbed, "You make the Artic look like a Caribbean paradise."

"And you, Boyd, can't admit you like me."

Boyd frowned. "I thought I already had."

"You said the words, but you battle with yourself. Is it because of what happened with your son?" Grace asked. "Do you feel like you're betraying your ex-wife by having feelings for another woman?"

"How did you…?" He broke off, starting to shake with anger.

But Grace reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. "He was killed in a gang shooting, wasn't he? How do you think I knew?"

"I-I'm sorry."

Grace's eyes widened and she squeezed his hand before sitting back. "That's alright. You know, I've encountered this before."

"What?" Boyd asked, sipping his drink.

"People whose attitudes are like yours."

"So now you can get in people's heads?" Boyd snapped.

Grace smiled. "Not exactly, but I can read people pretty well."

"And?"

"Peter, please, let's drop this charade. Your son was killed in a gang affair, your business is failing yet you have a brand new car…it wasn't difficult to put two and two together."

Boyd frowned, a cold ball forming the pit of his stomach, though he didn't quite know why. "What are you talking about?"

Grace's smile turned pitying. "When people don't want to be associated with an idea or an organisation, they protest louder than anyone else when approached by the thing that represents whatever they're trying to escape."

Boyd stared. "Was I supposed to understand any of that?"

"No," Grace said, shaking her head and sighing.

"Care to put it some sort of English for me?"

"You're either a gangster yourself or you've got gangster ties," Grace told him calmly. "That's why you were so against taking this job. It's not because you're a decent person; in my experience, I'm afraid there's no such thing."

Boyd's hand was making its way to his mouth to deliver some more whisky, but it never completed its journey. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the tumbler and suddenly, the sound of splintering glass echoed loudly around the restaurant.

Cursing none too quietly, Boyd grabbed one of the napkins and wrapped his bleeding hand in it. "I trust I can leave you to settle the bill," he said through gritted teeth. "Not very gallant of me, I know, but since I just spent all of my savings treating myself to a new car, I'm a little broke." He stood abruptly, knocking the chair backwards. "And don't *ever* give me any more summons, Mrs Foley. I'm not some mongrel you can call whenever you feel lonely."

Ignoring the looks of disgust he was receiving, Boyd strode out of the building, his powerful shoulders set squarely. Out on the street, he looked around quickly, glad to see Mel was nowhere in sight. Plunging his injured hand into his jacket, trying not to think of the mess it would make on the garment as he started to walk back to the office.

A few blocks away from the restaurant, Boyd saw a car approaching from the opposite direction and recognised it instantly. Swearing once more, he stopped and waited for it to come to a halt. Not waiting for anyone to get out, Boyd crossed the street.

"What do you want?" he said flatly, leaning over to peer into the back of the car.

Eve Lockhart sat there looking as unruffled as ever, her dark hair carefully styled, her nails painted boldly black. "Now now, Boyd, that's no way to be. Besides, how did you know who it was?"

Boyd grunted as he pulled the door open and climbed into the car. "I don't know anyone else who drives around in a '36 dark green Tourer except you. So, what do you want?"

"What do *you* want?"

"A lift back to the office and some sort of wadding if you've got anything handy."

Eve gasped a little when Boyd pulled his hand out of his jacket. "Let me see." Tenderly, she unwrapped the bloody napkin. "Shit. You should go to hospital."

"No," Boyd said firmly.

"I knew you'd say that, but I thought I'd suggest it." Eve pursed her lips. "Frankie, give me your tie, darling."

Boyd raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything as Eve's driver, a stocky man with wavy brown hair almost down to his shoulders and a kind face, handed her the item of clothing she had asked for.

"Why did you come to the office, Eve?" Boyd asked quietly as she re-bandaged his hand.

"I wanted to help."

"How?"

Eve paused and looked up. "I've got information on William Drake. I wanted to try and leak it to you, but it didn't really work. Cliff was too nervous…."

"Cliff Day?" Boyd exclaimed. "How do you know him?"

"Oh, use your head, Boyd," Eve replied irritably. "I run him, have done since he left Big Bill's employment."

"Was him leaving your doing?"

"It might have been. He's been very useful to us," Eve said, tying the makeshift bandage. "There."

Boyd caught her hand and held it gingerly. "Thank you. It was a help, but I don't suppose you've got anything for me?"

Eve sighed, but smiled as well. "Big Bill and Back Breaker worked together, but before you blow your top, The Rose didn't know anything about it. In fact, Boyd, you might want to ease up on her a little."

"Why?"

"We don't have any proof, but we think Back Breaker was into some heavy shit, the kind of stuff that even a godfather like Bill would baulk from."

Boyd raised his eyebrows. "And Grace knew about this?"

"I think she knew part of it, but she wouldn't have said anything," Eve told him. "Back Breaker didn't get his name on a whim; he was a violent man."

A muscle started to twitch in Boyd's jaw. "You think he was violent with his wife?"

"It would stand to reason, wouldn't it? Back Breaker must have kept records of his dealings, and if he crossed Big Bill, Bill would want to ruin Foley, even though he's dead."

"Grace said the files stolen would have been meaningless to Drake," Boyd said.

Eve nodded, lighting a cigarette, her free hand still cradling Boyd's injured one. "If she had no idea about Bill and James' working relationship, then she would think they were meaningless."

"Why do you want to help me?"

Eve laughed, a throaty sound that echoed around the car. "Who said I was helping you, darling?" They suddenly stopped moving. "Ah, I believe this is you. Look, Boyd, just tell your minions that I'll be helping out. I'm sure they'll both be delighted."

"Spence will be," Boyd muttered as he climbed out of the car. There were no words of goodbye; they weren't needed, and the car had disappeared from view before Boyd had unlocked the door to the agency. Spencer, Felix and Stella still weren't back from lunch, which wasn't a surprise, so Boyd went about fixing himself another stiff drink and cleaning his hand properly.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The Jade Flower was closed, but it wasn't unoccupied. Drake sat at a table in the middle of the room drinking coffee and reading the newspaper. Hearing footfalls behind him, he merely smiled instead of turning about.

"Ah, you have something for me?" he asked the woman as she sat down, his eyes glued to the face of his favourite singer.

TBC


	15. Chapter 15

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th September 1938, Afternoon*

Felix and Spencer entered the Old 'N Cold Agency in deep discussion, and for a moment, neither of them noticed Boyd stood in the corner of the room, his arms folded across his broad chest, his eyes darker than shadow.

"Where have you been?" he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

Both Felix and Spencer froze and looked around to locate him. "Jesus, Boss, what you doing skulking about?" Baby Face asked, clutching his chest dramatically.

Boyd strode forwards and smacked them both around the head. "That's for blaspheming and being late. I said lunch, not take the rest of the day off."

Felix scowled and rubbed his head. "Wasn't aware we were on a tight schedule," he muttered.

"Where's Stella?" Boyd asked, ignoring him.

Spencer looked a little embarrassed. "There was an accident at lunch. She spilt red wine down herself and went home to get changed."

Boyd's eyes widened. "Wine? What did I say about not bankrupting us?"

"Relax, Boss," Spencer said in an unbothered tone, lighting a cigarette. "We shared the bottle between us."

"And is my car still in one piece?" Boyd asked through gritted teeth.

Spencer grinned. "'Course it is."

"You'd say that if it wasn't."

"Damn right."

"There's been a development," Boyd said suddenly in a curt voice. "Eve Lockhart is going to be working with us on this case, passing us any relevant information she has."

Felix all but jumped to his feet. "What the hell? What skills has she got that're going to help us with this goddamn case?" he asked, his voice an octave below a shout. "And don't tell me not to blaspheme! I'm not a kid!"

"Don't act like one, then," Boyd snapped. "Look, this isn't up for discussion."

Spencer narrowed his eyes a little as he blew smoke out through his nose. "What's going on, Boss? What do you know that you're not telling?"

"Plenty, Baby Face. One of the problems of being as intelligent as me."

Felix coughed, though it sounded suspiciously like 'bullshit'.

An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as the three man stared at each other, like boxers weighing each other up before the big fight. Finally, Spencer stubbed his cigarette out and ran a hand over his short hair.

"Look, no one wants to say this - and by no one, I mean me and Felix - but we're both thinking it," Baby Face said. "Isn't it strange we start investigating Big Bill Drake, one of the most notorious gangsters of our time, and then this mysterious Eve Lockhart turns up? And now, she's offering to throw information our way…are we paying for it?"

Boyd shook his head. "No."

Spencer held his hands out. "I rest my case."

"You couldn't be further off the mark if you were in another country, Baby Face," Boyd told him firmly.

"But how…?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Boyd snapped. "Eve's solid, that's all you need to know."

Felix swore, and Spencer looked at him. "What?"

"Stella should have been back by now," Deadpan replied, looking agitated.

The three men glanced at each other again, all of them starting to worry. "You don't think…?" Spencer asked, leaving the question hanging.

"For Drake's sake, I hope not!" Boyd replied as he jogged into his office and grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair.

Felix and Spencer seemed rooted to the spot, and Boyd overtook them, flinging the front door open as he charged out of the building. But when he was halfway down the stairs, he heard a door slam and looking up, Boyd saw a flash of black and the distinctive shape of a Bentley driving off. Stella rushed up to him, looking thoroughly apologetic.

"I am so sorry, Mr Boyd. I know I should have returned some time ago, but…."

"Who dropped you off?" Boyd asked, cutting across her.

Stella looked confused. "Pardon?"

"The car you just got out of," he clarified. "Who was driving it?"

"Just a friend," Stella replied, bristling. "Although what concern it is of yours, I do not know. If you would like me to work longer today to make up for my extended lunch break, I will do."

"I'm driving, Phil…no, wait, stop!" Spencer shouted, his eyes widening when he saw Boyd on the steps.

A pile was only avoided because Felix grabbed onto the doorframe with one hand and Spencer's tie with the other. "You know, this is almost funny," Deadpan stated.

"You're…stranglin'…me," Spencer choked, grabbing Felix's arm.

"Exactly why it's funny."

"Deadpan, let…no, haul him up straight and then let him go," Boyd said, his patience beginning to wear thin again. Grace's accusations came back to him and he felt his blood start to boil.

"You're no fun, Boss," Felix replied, letting go of Spencer.

"This is work, it's not playtime," Boyd snapped. "Get your arses back inside and get some fucking work done for a change!" He glared at Stella. "Overtime will not be necessary, Miss Goodman, as Spencer and I won't be in the office tonight. However, if it happens again, I'll fire you quicker than you can breathe. Gibson, you can leave at five as well; tonight's operation doesn't need to concern you since you've been reluctant about this case every step of the fucking way so far."

"And, er, what is tonight's operation, Boss?" Spencer asked, his voice shaking slightly as it broke through the silent tension. He had rarely seen Boyd so angry; it wasn't something encouraged.

"We're going to see Drake, and we're going to ask the son-of-a-bitch if he's connected with this robbery or not," Boyd replied. "No more creeping around. We shall try, as Miss Goodman kindly suggested, taking the blunt approach. You got a problem with that?"

Spencer shook his head. "Ah, no, I don't think I do, Boss. Just wanted to know what we were doing."

"Clearly picture for you? We're going to walk into the lion's den and stick our heads in his mouth. How's that?"

"Great. Just so I'm clear about the method of suicide we'd chosen, that was all," Spencer replied. "Anyone for coffee? It's a little on the chilly side out here."

"I will make it. It is, after all, my job," Stella said, sweeping past them all.

"What happened to your hand, Boss?" Spencer asked as they sat down in the office. Felix maintained a sulky silence.

Boyd held up the bandage, which was only slightly blood stained now, and gave a wry smile. "Mrs Foley happened. She was delightful enough to insinuate, over lunch, that I was mob or mob-run, an assumption she drew from the car."

Spencer whistled. "And you were drinking at the time," he stated knowingly.

"About to."

"What a waste."

"I agree."

"So she put your back up and now you're going to prove what a tough man you are," Felix said contemptuously. "Good luck."

"I pay you to work, Deadpan, not make smart comments," Boyd snapped.

"Then why am I excluded from tonight's little get together?" Felix asked.

Boyd stared at him. "I don't get you! One minute you refuse to work the case, the next you're all for it! Make your damn mind up!"

"Forget it," Felix said, scowling.

"No, I don't think so, not this time." Boyd's voice was quiet, even calm. "What did Mel say to you? Did he make you an offer? Help to solve the case within a certain amount of time and…what? You'd get a bonus? A better job, working for Mrs Foley?"

Felix's jaw worked up and down for a moment. "Yeah, something like that. He recognised my name, knew my reputation. Said Mrs Foley allowed him to take on employees at his discretion. Was I interested in some work, double the pay what I get now, and half the rest?"

"And you said yes?" Spencer asked incredulously.

"Of course," Felix replied. "Wouldn't you?"

"Get - out - NOW!" Boyd roared.

But Felix didn't move. "Sorry, Boss, no can do. Remember Mrs Foley's condition? The three of us have got to finish the case together. No joint effort, no payment. Sweet, ain't it?"

"Why you little…!"

Boyd launched himself over the table and began pounding at Felix with his fists. The first punch connected with Deadpan's nose, hot blood spurting into his eyes. As he tried to clean them, Boyd delivered several rapid blows Felix's stomach and ribcage; Spencer swore he heard a sickening crack at one point.

But Felix was far from beaten. He brought his leg up with force, his knee connecting with the small of Boyd's back, causing him to arch into the touch and away from Felix. That was all the opportunity Deadpan need to push Boyd off him and jump to his feet. He was just about to place a well-aimed kick at The Boss's head when he heard a telltale click.

"Doh wubn't," Felix said thickly, his nose impairing his speech.

Spencer stared at him coldly down the length of his gun. "Yes, Phil, I would. Boyd's a tough task master at times, but I'd never double cross him."

"Loyalty. So admirable," Felix said with a sneer.

"Not just that, it's good manners."

"What?"

"I'd never kick a man when he's down," Spencer replied. "Now move away or I will shoot you."

Felix hesitated, then stepped back. He walked to his desk, grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. "You owe me a week's wages," were his departing words.

Spencer counted to ten before carefully releasing the hammer on his gun and putting it on the desk. "You okay?" he asked, extending a hand to Boyd.

"Been better. Would you have shot him?"

"Of course."

"I'll get the first aid stuff," Stella said quietly.

"Now what?" Spencer asked.

"Good riddance to bad rubbish. Fix me up. Then we go to work," Boyd replied.

TBC


	16. Chapter 16

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th September 1938, Evening*

The mood in the agency had been particularly sombre after Felix's departure, and Boyd and Spencer sank a good few drinks before going upstairs to change and heading to The Jade Flower. They didn't bother with covert entrances; they strode in together, looking every inch the detectives they were supposed to be. After all, Boyd had reasoned, where was the point in trying to hide when Vine had probably told Drake everything?

Spencer paused to light a cigarette, his dark eyes surveying the room casually. "Vine and his cronies aren't here," he reported, barely moving his lips.

"No surprise there," Boyd replied. "Drake's not here yet either. Let's get a drink."

"So what's the plan?"

"Told you, Baby Face, there ain't one," Boyd said, ordering two whiskies. "We just wait for Drake to show up."

"And then?" Spencer asked.

"Trust me, he'll come to us."

"Vine?"

Boyd nodded and sipped his drink. "Vine."

"So, Boss," Spencer said after a while, "You going to tell me about Eve?"

"Not yet, Spence," Boyd replied. "But in time I will, okay?"

Baby Face shrugged. "Alright. Was just trying to make the time pass quicker, that's all."

"That won't be necessary," Boyd murmured, directing his colleague's gaze to the left of where they were sitting. Drake had just entered the room and was making his way from table to table. "Want to wage a bet on how long it'll take him to get here?"

"No," Spencer said with a half-smile.

Two minutes later, Drake stopped at their table, smiling. "Good evening, gentlemen. I would introduce myself, but I think you already know who I am."

"We do, but we're not sure what name you're using right now," Boyd replied, not standing up. "Is it Mr Drake, William, or Big Bill?"

Drake's smile flickered for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Boyd and Spencer to notice. "You're being extremely rude, Mr Boyd, and in my own club as well. Surely your parents raised you with manners; you should dust them off and use them once in a while."

Spencer's hand twitched. "I wouldn't if I were you," a voice said, and Baby Face turned to see McQueen looking down at him. "Stand up, boy."

Boyd stood first, turned to face McQueen and placed a hand close to the other's chest. "You call him that again and you'll be eating the floor, got it?" Boyd turned back to Drake. "You had the grace to insult my manners; you should sort your own house out first, Bill."

McQueen grabbed Boyd's wrist and was about to twist it violently when Drake held his hand up. "That's enough, Tommy," he said, his tone almost sharp. "I think it's safe to say our new friends are carrying - I'd be very disappointed if they weren't - but that they're going to observe etiquette and not start shooting in here. Am I right?"

Boyd nodded. "Unless, of course, you start shooting first. I take it self-defence is allowed?"

Drake's smile grew. "I think you and I will get on splendidly, Peter."

"I hope not," Boyd replied with a broad smile of his own.

"You can go, Tommy," Drake said.

McQueen scowled. "But…."

"Are you deaf or just as stupid as you look?" Drake snapped. "I said go."

McQueen's glowered deepened but he stomped off without another word. Boyd sat back down, his brow creasing slightly in a frown. "I must admit, I'm a little surprised," he said. "Why choose to keep the company of a man you obviously dislike?"

"He's good at his job, like you," Drake replied, ordering a round of drinks with a simple hand gesture.

"You mean maiming people," Spencer said, glaring as he lit another cigarette.

"I'm sorry if he insulted you, Mr Jordan, and I never said I agreed with Tommy's methods. But sometimes…." Drake just shrugged and leant back a little to allow the waiter to place the drinks on the table. "Needs must, gentlemen. Cheers."

"Cheers," Boyd and Spencer replied, taking a drink of whisky.

"Now, gentlemen, let's get down to business, shall we?"

"Do you know a Mrs Grace Foley?" Spencer asked.

Drake nodded. "Well, I've heard of her. Wife of the late James 'Back Breaker' Foley." He looked around and lowered his voice. "Listen, whatever you *think* you know about me, you don't. You might be under the impression that I'm a notorious gangster, and that's your prerogative, but unless you've got any cast iron proof, I wouldn't even bother trying to get people to believe it."

"And if we had proof?" Boyd asked.

Drake's smile was now chilling. "You'd be dead."

Boyd sighed and looked at Spencer. "He was doing so well, wasn't he?"

Spencer nodded. "He was. What a shame."

"You think you intimidate me?" Drake asked incredulously. "Here, in my own club, on my own turf? You're both seriously deluded."

Boyd leant forward, his expression serious. "Mr Drake, Mrs Foley has hired us to retrieve certain documents that were stolen from her by, she believes, you or someone hired by you. It would help everyone involved if you told us the truth, because we will not rest until those files are back with their rightful owner."

"In that case, gentlemen," Drake said, lifting his glass in a salute, "Good luck."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Felix paused before entering the main office, waiting to see if he had been heard or seen breaking in. But when no one shouted 'Oi, you!', he assumed it was safe and went in. A light had been left on, which was no doubt down to Stella as Boyd was a stickler for saving electricity, which Deadpan knew translated to 'money'.

There was something different about the office, and for a moment he couldn't figure out what it was. Then he took a deep breath and realised the whole place had been thoroughly cleaned. Felix wrinkled his nose; whatever Stella had used was far too strong for his liking.

Carefully, he reached out and put a desk lamp on so he wouldn't walk into anything. He could have put the main light on, but the glow would definitely have been visible from outside. He didn't know if Boyd and Spencer were back yet from their little outing and he didn't really care. All that bothered Felix was not getting caught.

He wouldn't have bothered going back to the agency at all except he had left his address book there, and collecting it during office hours wasn't an option; he was still smarting from the beating he'd had earlier.

Felix finally found what he was looking for at the bottom of a drawer underneath a sheaf of papers. Slipping the book into his pocket, he reached for the light, his eyes straying to Spencer's desk. Felix froze. There was an envelope there, addressed to Mr Jordan, and next to it - presumably having been delivered in the envelope - was a book.

Felix was many things, but he was a pretty good detective and all of his instincts were telling him the scene before him was wrong. He padded around to Spencer's desk and reached for the book as though it was a poisonous snake. Standing well back, he picked a ruler up and lifted the cover of the book gingerly.

Deadpan's instincts were excellent; unfortunately, his reflexes were dull due to the pain from the fight he'd had with Boyd. He was too late to stop the substance spraying into his face and as he went to claw at his stinging face, he let go of the ruler. The book cover dropped with relatively little noise; the explosion that followed was not much louder, but it served its purpose. Felix was thrown onto his back, knocking him unconscious, and a false book began to smoke.

TBC


	17. Chapter 17

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*26th September 1938, Evening*

"Well," Spencer said in a sarcastic tone, patting his jacket down in search of cigarettes, "That went well."

Boyd looked at him. "You carry on smoking like you do you're going to look like a cigarette. What happened to the one you had in your mouth, anyway?"

Spencer shrugged as he lit another up. "Dropped it one the way out probably."

Boyd shook his head. "Besides, that *did* go well."

"You know, Boss, I think Drake might've had a point. You are deluded at times."

"If Felix hadn't just walked out…."

"Jumped before he was pushed, you mean," Spencer muttered with a snort.

Boyd ignored him. "…You'd be out on your ear. As it is…I can't do this on my own."

"So, Boss, explain to me how that went well," Spencer said after a pause.

"Drake almost as good as admitted that he *did* have the papers," Boyd replied as they reached the car. "His parting words - 'good luck' - were spoken like a challenge. He *wants* us to go after them." The Boss frowned. "It's almost like this is…a game to him."

Spencer flicked some ash on the ground. "You mean this was all a set up? Why? You think Vine's made a deal with Drake to get back at you?"

Boyd leant against the Lagonda and shook his head. "Drake's far too smart to be duped by a cheap con like Vine. No, there's something else going on here, something we're missing."

Spencer grunted. "We're always missing something, Boss. Nature of our work." He threw his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it out with the toe of his shoe. "If you ask me…." He broke off suddenly, his face alert. "Don't be too sudden about it, Boyd," Baby Face said quietly, "But turn to your right."

Boyd nodded and started to work his neck like he had a crick in it. Eventually, he manoeuvred it to the right; for a few seconds, he had a perfect view of McQueen talking to Vine, Hoyle and Greene. Then Boyd had to move his head away again.

"Now what's happening?" he asked Spencer as they got into the car.

"Looks like Vine's going off with McQueen, and Hoyle and Greene are going somewhere else," Spencer replied. "Do we follow?"

"Yeah, we follow."

"Which one?"

Boyd leant his knuckle against his mouth thoughtfully. "Hoyle and Greene. We start tailing Vine and McQueen and they'll know, but Hoyle and Greene are too stupid to notice."

"We hope," Spencer muttered under his breath as he put the car in gear and started to follow the black Ford Coupe.

They drove for half an hour, almost losing their quarry a couple of times, but Spencer was able to pick them up again because of the distinctive marks on the car; bullet holes near the bumper were a dead giveaway. But just when it looked like Hoyle and Greene were nearing their destination, a black Bentley shot in front of Spencer and Boyd.

"Oh, shit!" Spencer swore as he grabbed the wheel of the Lagonda and swerved hard to avoid collision. "Stupid bastard!"

Boyd gripped the car door and the dashboard. "Please be careful with my car," he said in a pained voice.

Spencer turned to stare at him soon as the car came to a halt. "Sure thing, Boss. To hell with our lives as long as there's no scratches in the paintwork!"

"Actually," Boyd said as he slowly unwound himself from his frozen position, "I meant watch the lamp post."

Spencer carried on staring. Then a smile split onto his face, growing into a grin, and before either of them knew what was happening, they were laughing loudly, clutching at their sides.

"What is about impending death that brings out the funny side of life?" Boyd asked breathlessly.

"I - have - no - idea!" Spencer replied, grinning broadly. "Well, we'll never find them now."

"Suppose if they've done something they shouldn't have, it'll be all over the papers in the morning." Boyd sat up and straightened his hat. "Come on, let's get back to the office."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Before they reached the street where they parked the car, Boyd knew something was wrong. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up to attention and a cold ball had formed in his stomach.

"Pull over," he ordered.

"Huh?" Spencer replied eloquently.

"Pull over!" Boyd shouted, opening the door of the car and hitting the pavement before the vehicle had stopped moving.

Spencer leant out of the window looking confused. "Boss! Shit."

He put his foot down hard on the accelerator and threw the car around the corner. By the time he had parked the Lagonda properly, Boyd was already bounding up the stairs of the agency, his gun drawn. It was then that Spencer noticed the smoke seeping wispily out into the night.

"Holy…!" Baby Face exclaimed, his eyes widening as he broke out into a run. He slowed down as he reached the agency, taking his gun out and breathing deeply. "Boss?"

"It's okay, Spence," Boyd replied, sounding weary.

Still Spencer entered the room cautiously, not holstering his weapon until he was certain there was no threat. "Who are you?" he asked a brown haired man stood near the door.

"Frank Wharton," the man replied, holding his hand out. "Call me Frankie." When Spencer looked at the hand, Frankie expanded. "I'm with her."

Baby Face turned to Eve Lockhart lighting up a cigarette. "Don't suppose you've got a spare?" Spencer asked. "I seem to have run out." Eve passed him the one she had just lit and then took another out without speaking. "So, what's going on?" Spencer turned a fraction and that was when he noticed Felix. "Shit! What happened, man?"

Felix shifted the damp towel on his face. "Miss Fuckin' Know-It-All there'll explain it," he said bitterly.

Boyd kicked his chair. "She just saved your life, you arsehole, so shut up before I finish the job someone else started on your face!"

Spencer spun a chair round, sat down heavily and took a deep breath. "Okay, someone please tell me what the *hell* is going on."

Boyd looked at Eve. "Go on, you do it. I've only heard half the story anyway."

Eve took a long drag of her cigarette and glanced at Frankie. "Be a darling and make sure we're not disturbed by anyone, especially not the damned police." She looked back to Boyd. "No offence, sweetie."

"None taken."

Spencer took note of the fact that Boyd didn't even blink at being called 'sweetie' but decided now was not the time to make an issue of it. "So," Baby Face said, "You're going to tell us a story."

"I came round to talk to you both," Eve started, "But you weren't at home. I was about to leave when I smelt something odd, so I had Frankie knock your door down. Don't worry about it, Boyd darling, I'll pay for the damage. I found your friend here…."

"He ain't our friend," Spencer quickly corrected.

Felix made a rude hand gesture. "Screw you."

Spencer jabbed his finger at him. "Listen…."

"Both of you, shut it," Boyd snapped. "Go on, Eve."

She took another drag of her cigarette before continuing. "As I was saying, I found him on his back, unconscious and with some sort of weak acid on his face. There was also a small fire going on, which we managed to put out.

"I've washed more of the acid off. He'll be alright and he will not be going to the hospital, will you, Felix?" Eve said in a very firm tone. She didn't wait for a reply. "There was a rather crude device in this fake book." She pointed to the charred box. "Someone had put gas-propelled acid in there, similar to what the ancient Egyptians used to use, so when the box was opened, the substance goes straight for the prettiest part of your body. Luckily for Mr Gibson here, he was standing a good distance away. As I said, the device was crude, so the acid wouldn't have gone far."

"If someone had opened the 'book' literally in front of their face…?" Spencer asked.

Eve stubbed out her cigarette. "A case of 'where would you like the body sent?' Well, perhaps not quite, but seeing again would not be a distinct possibility. Oh, and the package was addressed to you."

Spencer looked shocked. "Why me?"

"Standard diversion tactics," Frankie said, startling them all. "Never aim for the organ grinder; go for the monkey. Organ grinder will then be duly distracted."

Spencer thought about it them smiled. "Good analogy."

"Thanks."

"Anyway, there was also an explosive device in here as well," Eve continued. "But as the box was only small, the amounts of explosives in there would only have been small as well. Enough to start a fire, but it was never going to level the block."

"And what exactly where you doing here in the first place, Gibson?" Boyd asked.

"Forgot something."

"Do the words 'office hours' mean nothing to you?"

Felix threw the towel on the floor and glared. His face was covered in red welts which looked sore, but nothing too serious. "I could've had my face melted off!"

"You were fuckin' trespassing, you bastard!" Boyd roared, getting to his feet. "If I had any faith in the justice system, I'd be throwing you to the police by now!"

"What were *you* doing here?" Spencer asked Eve loudly.

"I came to give you some bad news," she said, and everyone looked at her. "Mel Silver's been murdered."

TBC


	18. Chapter 18

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*27th September 1938, Morning*

There wasn't much else to be done that night, so after making sure that Felix had collected all of his belongings and wasn't going to go ratting to the police, Boyd turfed him out and locked the door thankfully behind him.

Frankie offered to stay downstairs in the office while Eve took Boyd's room upstairs. Boyd slept on the couch, which was lumpy as shit but after the day he'd had, he really didn't care. From Grace's hurtful accusations to Felix's betrayal to the news that Mel had been murdered, Boyd just wanted to sleep for a week.

The following morning the mood was sombre in the agency, but there was no awkwardness amongst the four of them. Spencer made coffee in silence and handed out cups to everyone while Boyd stood and buttered toast.

"What I want to know," Spencer said as he ate his breakfast, "Is how that package got into our office because it weren't there when we left."

"Wasn't," Boyd corrected him absently, his dark eyes fixed on Eve.

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Whatever. What I'm saying is where did it come from? Why was it addressed to me, and how the hell did it get onto my desk?"

"You don't think it was Gibson, do you?" Frankie asked from his position near the door.

"What? And then he was stupid enough to open it?" Spencer shook his head. "Deadpan's a bastard, but he's not thick. Well, only sometimes."

"You know who it is, don't you?" Boyd said to Eve.

Eve pretended to look surprised. "What makes you think that, darling?"

"Don't bullshit me, I'm not in the mood," he snapped.

"You're never in the mood," Eve replied calmly.

Spencer drained his coffee cup and put it in the sink. "Right, I've had enough of this cloak and dagger shit. What the hell is going on?" Frankie sniggered and Eve started to smile. "What? What did I say?" Spencer demanded to know.

Boyd exhaled noisily and ran a hand through his hair. "For God's sake, Eve, just tell him! If you don't, I bloody well will."

"Alright." Eve lit a cigarette up and turned her attention to Spencer, who was watching her raptly. "I've been watching Drake for some time of he's of great interest to us."

"Us?" Spencer asked, frowning.

Eve smiled at him. "All in good time, darling. So as you can imagine, when I heard Cliff Day wanted to leave Drake's employment, I offered him a job as a grass. He gets paid well and protected, and I get more information than my colleagues, which pisses them off no end." Her smile turned smug for a moment. "I told Cliff to give you the connection between Big Bill and William Drake, and that Drake could be found at The Jade Flower."

"Okay, one, who is us?" Spencer asked again. "Two, how do you know about Drake? And three, why do you want to help us?"

"One and two are connected, though I'm not sure you're ready for the answer," Eve replied.

Spencer glared. "Try us."

"No, darling, only you. He already knows." Eve pointed to Boyd, who scowled at her.

"You lot are worse than the fucking government!" Spencer exploded, standing up quickly. "Will someone just tell me what the *hell* is going on?"

"She works for the SIS," Boyd replied quietly.

"The what?"

"MI6," Frankie provided.

Spencer stared at them all and then started laughing. "Oh, that's a good one. You know for a minute, you almost…had…me…. Oh Jesus fuckin' Christ."

Boyd threw a mug at Spencer, but luckily missed. "Language, Baby Face!" he said sharply.

"Yeah, sorry, Boss. But I mean, shit, did you have to drop a bombshell like that on me?" Spencer dropped heavily back onto the chair and reached for his cigarettes, but Eve pushed a lit one into his fingers. "Thanks. So you're really a…spy?"

Eve smiled at him. "I'm an agent, yes."

Spencer nodded. "And him?" he asked, gesturing to Frankie.

"My driver."

"Bodyguard?"

"If need be."

"Agent?"

Eve smiled sweetly.

Spencer stared at Boyd. "And how the hell would you know something like this?"

"Eve and I go way back, and that's all you need to know for now," Boyd replied sharply. "What's your interest in Drake, Eve?"

"We think he has Communist links," she said, her tone serious. "We haven't been able to prove anything, but it seems he might be responsible for selling arms to the Russians. If it's true, we can lock him up for the rest of his life, but we can't find a damned thing on him." She shook her head. "Drake's smart, Peter. What the hell did you hope to achieve by waltzing into his bloody club and just confronting him like that?"

Boyd just shrugged, seemingly unfazed by Eve's knowledge of his activities. "The direct approach can work sometimes, you know."

"Not this time, believe me." Eve pursed her lips. "Peter, I don't want to lay blame but…."

"You think my brash attitude got Mel killed and Felix injured," Boyd said. "Don't think the thought hasn't crossed my mind, but whoever dropped that box off…."

"McQueen!" Spencer exclaimed. "Or Hoyle and Greene. Remember, Boss? We were following Hoyle and Greene last night, and McQueen and Vine went off in another direction."

"You're thinking one pair went to off Mel Silver while the other pair broke in here?" Frankie asked.

"It's a very plausible explanation," Boyd replied, looking at his watch. "Listen, as soon as Stella gets here, I'm going to see Grace."

Spencer looked surprised. "Even after your little disagreement?"

"Her driver's just been murdered, Spence," Boyd replied in an appalled voice. "Eve, what about police?"

She shook her head. "We cleaned it up."

Boyd raised his eyebrows. "Grace knows?"

Eve shrugged. "I don't know, she didn't ask. Seemed glad that the police weren't going to be involved, to be honest, which didn't surprise me."

"I can understand that," Boyd replied, then he turned his head sharply. "That's the front door. Stella must be here. For now, I want to keep your involvement quiet, Eve. That means Stella doesn't know you're here, got it?"

"I can use the back way, darling," she replied. "I know the drill."

Boyd flashed her a grin. "In case you've forgotten…."

"The seventh and fourth steps creak." Eve nodded. "I know."

Both Frankie and Spencer shared a look that clearly said 'oh-kay'. "You need some backup, Boss?" Baby Face asked.

Body smiled. "No thanks, Spence. Some things you got to do on your own. Come on, let's fill Stella in on what's happened."

TBC


	19. Chapter 19

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*27th September 1938, Morning*

"Good morning," Stella said brightly as Boyd and Spencer appeared in the office. "I've brought…." She sobered at the expressions on their faces. "What is it?"

"After you left last night, did you come back at all?" Boyd asked without preamble.

Stella stared at him. "No, Mr Boyd."

"Did you see anyone loitering when you left?"

"Sorry?"

"Hanging around," Spencer translated. "Stood about doing nothing and looking bloody suspicious about it."

"Oh. No, I didn't. Has something happened?" Stella asked.

Spencer snorted. "Yeah, something."

"You tell her, I'll make coffee, then I'm out of here," Boyd said.

Spencer nodded and gestured for Stella to sit down. With a deep breath, he quickly recounted everything that had happened since she left the night before, and barely acknowledged Boyd when he handed him a cup of coffee.

There was a long silence after Spencer had finished talking, broken eventually by Stella exhaling loudly and whispering, "Mon Dieu. De nuit l'obscurité ainsi."

Boyd looked at her curiously. "In English? Except the 'mon Dieu' part. Please don't blaspheme in this office, in any language."

Stella ducked her head in embarrassment. "Sorry, Mr Boyd. It means…ah, how to explain? It translates literally as 'the night so dark'. I think you say the night is most dark before the dawn, yes?"

"Something like that," Boyd replied, smiling.

"It means that things are always are their very worst before they start to get better."

Boyd nodded. "I know."

"Well, I…I just thought it appropriate. After what has happened, surely things cannot get worse?" Stella asked.

Boyd grunted while Spencer shook his head. "Can and usually does," Baby Face replied.

Surprisingly, Stella nodded. "I know. I always thought it was a stupid statement. After all, the night is just as dark from one hour to the next, no?"

"Yes, it is, but the sentiment is what matters," Boyd said.

"Sentiment," Stella scoffed. "I'm sorry, Mr Boyd, but it is overrated."

Boyd's features hardened. "Perhaps. But not always." He drained his cup, put it on the desk and stood up. "Make sure all the notes are in order when I get back, including what happened last night and Felix Gibson's…'retirement'." He looked at Spencer, his expression softening slightly. "Help her. Stay here. Don't go doing anything stupid. Got it?"

Spencer nodded solemnly. "Got it, Boss. You take it easy as well?"

"I'll take it any way I can get it, Spence," Boyd replied as he left the office.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The atmosphere at Grace's house was notably different and Boyd immediately started to worry about her now she was alone. He knocked loudly on the door but received no answer.

"Mrs Foley! It's Peter Boyd," he called.

He heard the sound of locks moving and then the door opened a fraction. Grace peered out and seeing it really was him, opening the door further. "What do you want?"

For a moment, Boyd couldn't speak. Even though she had just suffered a tragedy, Grace looked more gorgeous than ever. She held herself high and proud, and gave off the air of someone who was very much in control. Again Boyd had the thought that many a man must have simply lain down for her when she clicked her fingers; he certainly felt the same way, but it wasn't in his nature to give in. Perhaps that was why the chemistry he felt between them was so electric.

"I wanted to offer my condolences for Mel. I know he was an important part of your life," Boyd replied sincerely. "And I wanted to check that you were alright."

Grace managed to sneer at him. "Really?"

"Yes, Mrs Foley, really. Despite our differences, I happen to care about you," Boyd admitted with difficulty. "And if Drake is willing to murder your friend, who knows what he'll do to you?"

Suddenly Grace flew down the stairs at Boyd. For a moment he thought she was going to attack him, but instead she collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his shirt front.

"I've been so worried on my own!" she cried.

Boyd might have found that hard to believe if not for the earnestness in Grace's voice. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held her to him. "It's alright, I'm here now. I won't let anything happen to you."

"You must think I'm being…silly."

Boyd pulled back a little to look at her. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, here I am, wife of a ruthless gangster, tough as nuts myself, been in worse situations than this, and yet…."

"Grief affects people in different ways," Boyd said, his voice hoarse. "Everyone has to crack sometimes."

"What about you, Mr Boyd?" Grace asked gently, her voice still rough with tears.

He gave a jerky shrug. "My son…. I never thought…." Boyd choked back a sob in surprise.

Grace stroked his back. "It's alright, Peter. Maybe…maybe, just this once, we can help each other."

They sank to the ground in a very undignified manner, but neither of them cared. For a moment they were suspended from reality, absorbing the comfort the other offered. After a while, Grace's breathing evened out and Boyd found his heart felt lighter.

Wordlessly, he pulled her away from him, stood up, his knees and back cracking in the process, and extended his hand.

"You sound like a firecracker," Grace observed in an amused tone before quickly turning sombre. "Mr Boyd, I owe you a very sincere apology about lunch yesterday. I was so far out of line I think I was in another country. I'm used to dealing with a certain type of people, you see, and to meet someone who is actually, genuinely honest…well, I hope you can understand that it's a rare thing."

"I do understand, Grace, but that doesn't mean I liked it," Boyd replied. "Apology accepted, though. Now is not the time to be fighting; we have more important things to sort out."

"Come in and I'll make us a drink."

"Are you going to stay here?" Boyd asked as he followed Grace into the house.

"I don't have anywhere else to go. Why? Do you think I'm at risk?"

"Yes."

Grace smiled. "I'm sure if that was true, I would have been harmed before now," she replied, lighting a cigarette.

"I think we're getting closer to the truth," Boyd said. "That means they're going to start getting desperate."

"The woman that was here briefly last night said a similar thing," Grace replied, her tone deceptively mild.

But Boyd caught the undercurrent. "Eve Lockhart's an old friend," he told her. "She's good at her job and she knows what she's doing."

"What exactly is her job? She was a little vague."

"She isn't police."

"I know that," Grace said.

Boyd smiled. "She's worse."

Grace held her hand up. "Say no more, please. I'm adverse to the use of bad language in this house."

Boyd barked a laugh. "I'm sure you are. Look, Grace, space is in short supply, but I really think you should stay at the office. You'd be safer and better protected there. But there is a condition."

"Oh?" Grace looked amused.

"Please don't try to buy or bribe any more of my staff; I haven't got enough."

Grace frowned. "What do you mean?"

Boyd mirrored her expression. "Felix Gibson said that Mel had offered him a job working for you. Better hours, better pay." He quickly explained what had happened and when he finished talking, Grace shook her head.

"I didn't know anything about that, Peter. I'm sorry."

Boyd waved the comment aside. "It doesn't matter now anyway." He looked around the kitchen. "Do you *want* to stay here?"

"Why?" Grace asked.

"If you do, I'll arrange for someone to stay with you. I don't want you to stay on your own."

Grace reached across the table and laid her hand on his. "Thank you. God knows I don't deserve your kindness."

Boyd turned his hand over so he could envelop hers. "Don't talk stupid. Of course you do."

They held on a minute longer than was absolutely necessary. "Thank you for the offer, but no, I don't think I do want to stay here. I remained in the house after James' died because I was too scared to leave it, to try and find another place to live, especially on my own. But now Mel has gone as well…." Grace gave a little shrug. "There's no reason for me to stay here. If you'll give me a few minutes to collect a few things, then we can leave. If the offer…."

"It's still open," Boyd confirmed quickly. "Do you want me to put the Daimler in garage?"

"Please," Grace called over her shoulder as she left the room. "And try not to scratch the paintwork!"

TBC


	20. Chapter 20

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*27th September 1938, Afternoon*

As it was, it took a while longer than a few minutes for Grace to collect the essentials she needed; four hours longer, to be precise, and by the end of it, Boyd was understandably short-tempered.

"For Christ's sake, Grace, just finish up already!" he shouted up the stairs.

"That tone won't make me go any faster, Boyd!" Grace yelled back.

Boyd swore and threw his hands in the air. "Women," he muttered.

"I heard that!"

Boyd scowled, pulled a toothpick from his coat pocket and began chewing on it in earnest. This was going to make things crowded, not to mention awkward, at work, but there was nothing else for it. He was damned if he was going to let Grace stay in the house on her own. Boyd just wished there was a way for him to let Spencer know before he got back to the office.

*'A phone you could carry with you. That would be handy right now,'* Boyd thought to himself as he paced the hallway.

"I'm ready. We can go now," Grace announced, startling him.

He turned and his jaw dropped right open, the toothpick hanging there precariously. "How long are you planning on staying?" Boyd blurted out.

Grace seemed unfazed. "As long as is necessary."

"Is there anything left in the house?"

"Nothing of importance," Grace replied as she breezed past him. "Well start to load the cases into the car. You *were* in a hurry, weren't you?"

Boyd didn't know if Grace was pushing it because it was a coping mechanism or if she was always like that, but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. "Certainly, ma'am. Do you have a chauffeur's cap I can wear as well?" he retorted.

Grace laughed, turned round and patted his cheek. Then she realised what she had done and turned back quickly. "No, I don't. I'm sorry."

Boyd didn't know whether she was referring to the lack of a cap or the suddenly show of affection. "It's alright," he replied, thinking that was a good enough answer to cover both choices.

"I feel like I owe you lunch," Grace said a while later as they drove off in the Lagonda, its back end dragging slightly with the weight of the cases. "After all, you didn't get to eat yesterday and we're set to miss lunch again today."

"Normally, Grace, I would leap at the chance, but not today. I want to get you back to the office," Boyd replied, and then stopped. "I mean…. I want to make sure you're safe, and I need to talk to my colleague."

"Which one?" Grace asked, her tone far too innocent. "After all, you seem to have a fair few in residence at the moment."

"Yes, I realise I need to clarify." Boyd glanced in his rear view mirror and frowned slightly. "I have to talk to Spencer; after all, he lives there as well."

"You seem to rely on him a great deal, and him on you," Grace said thoughtfully.

Boyd shrugged. "He's a good man to work with, loyal and dependable. I suppose you could say he's my best friend."

Grace stared out of the window. "It must be nice to have one of those."

"What about Mel?"

"He isn't here now, is he?" Grace replied.

The journey back to the office was spent in silence, and Boyd didn't move his head except to look in the rear view mirror occasionally. When they arrived at the agency, Boyd parked as close to the front door as he could manage.

"Stay here a moment," he told Grace as he got out of the car. Then at the top of his voice, he bellowed, "SPENCER!" his deep voice echoing off the walls of the narrow alley.

Baby Face came flying out of the agency less than a minute, his eyes alert and his gun drawn. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Put it away, you'll scare the neighbours," Boyd told him disdainfully.

Spencer holstered his gun grumpily. "What's with the summons, Boss?"

"Grace is going to be staying with us for a while," Boyd told him when Baby Face was close enough to hear without The Boss having to raise his voice. "I'm sorry I didn't have time to check with you, but I wasn't about to leave her in the house on her own."

Spencer shrugged. "Don't worry about it, Boss. One more body ain't going to make any difference."

"We were followed," Boyd murmured, hardly moving his lips. "It's a black car and I couldn't see any distinguishing marks, but it looks bloody familiar."

"One of Drake's flunkies?" Spencer asked, looking casual as he lit a cigarette.

"I think it's McQueen. Looked like the same car that stopped us from tailing Hoyle and Greene last night," Boyd replied.

"Where is it now?"

"Not here. Carried on going when I stopped, but that doesn't mean anything. Could just be taking a turn around the block to make sure he's got a clean shot."

Spencer nodded. "So what do you want me to do? Carry the luggage or give the lady some cover?"

"Protect Gra…. Hang on," Boyd said, frowning. "How did you know there'd be luggage?"

Baby Face grinned. "With a lady like Grace, I'd be pretty damn surprised if there wasn't. Let me guess, everything but the kitchen sink?"

Boyd grunted. "You got that right. And since you know so much about heavy lifting, you can get the bags."

"Black guy always gets shot, Boss, you know that, right?"

Boyd grinned. "I certainly do." He walked around to the passenger side of the Lagonda. "Sorry for the wait, Grace. Just clarifying a few things."

She smiled at him and allowed him to help her out of the car. "Don't worry about it. It's nice to be so well looked after."

Boyd led her into the agency, knowing full well without looking that Spencer was covering their backs before he started lugging the baggage. The main office was empty of people, which Boyd was glad about, and he showed Grace into his room.

"If you take a seat, I'll be right with you," he said, smiling and heading back out to help Spencer carry the bags. "Where is everyone?"

Baby Face paused on the steps panting. "Stella…went to…lunch. Eve and Frankie…just went out. And…no…I don't think…Stella knows…anything about Eve being…here."

"Good." Boyd checked his watch. "Stella should be back soon. Don't worry about Eve, she can take care of herself."

"I don't…doubt that," Spencer replied, his eyes shining with admiration for the woman. "One day, Boss, maybe…when this is all over…you can tell me…how you and Eve met."

Boyd grimaced. "If you're lucky, Baby Face. If you're lucky."

The Boss held the door open for Spencer to go in before heading down the stairs and towards the Lagonda. His mind was elsewhere, which was why he didn't notice the black car that had pulled up across the road. Nor did he notice the figure climbing out of it.

The sharp crack that resounded around the empty street made Boyd's heart stop beating for what felt like an eternity. His revolved cleared its holster in record time and he dropped to a marksman's crouch behind the Lagonda. Peering through the windows carefully, Boyd saw the black car drive off, but he was too shaken up to see the make.

And so when someone spoke, it was a miracle he didn't shoot them.

TBC


	21. Chapter 21

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*27th September 1938, Afternoon*

Stella looked down at The Boss and tried not to laugh, although it wasn't too difficult as he was still pointing a gun at her.

"Is something wrong, Mr Boyd?" she asked politely.

"What was that noise?" he replied in a disgruntled tone.

"My friend's car backfiring."

Boyd pushed himself to his feet and holstered his weapon. "Is he your boyfriend?"

Stella's face hardened. "That is none of your business, Mr Boyd." She walked past him with her head held high.

Cursing quietly, Boyd returned to the task of lugging Grace's bags into the office. Once there, he told Spencer to help him take them upstairs.

"I heard a noise," Baby Face said quietly.

Boyd pulled a face. "Car backfiring."

But Spencer didn't laugh. "What's up, Boss? You've got that look."

"I'm not sure. Something's up, though. When I figure it out, I'll let you know."

Spencer looked around the apartment they called home. "Things are going to be a little crowded around here," he noted.

Boyd nodded. "I think we'll be bunking here," he said, gesturing to the living room.

"Or downstairs."

"Last resort."

"Still. So, yours or mine?"

"Have to be yours since Eve's in mine," Boyd replied.

"Mine it is," Spencer said, taking Grace's cases into his room. "Boss, we need to know exactly what was stolen from Mrs Foley, and why Big Bill would want them."

Boyd's expression suddenly darkened. "There's a couple of other things I need to discuss with our client. Would you ask her to come up, please?"

"Boss?" Spencer asked, frowning.

"Don't worry, Baby Face, it's purely business. I'll fill you in later, when I've got some answers. Hopefully," Boyd added.

Spencer just nodded. "Sure thing, Boss."

Boyd seemed surprised. "What? No arguing? No grumbling? No showing off that chip on your shoulder?"

"One, there's no point in doing any of that shit," Spencer replied. "And two, there's some fucking nasty stuff going on around here, and I'm thinking it's more than just some missing papers. When people start dying, I start worrying. And you can be an A1 arsehole at times, but…well…as well as being the guy that pays me and gives me a place to live…you're a friend, Boss. I trust you know what you're doing."

"And if I don't, you'll give me a kicking, right?" Boyd asked with a grin.

"Damn straight," Spencer replied, tapping a cigarette into his hand. "Look, Boss, after Deadpan's antics, I figure you deserve a better class of employee and I aim to give you that."

"That reminds me, Grace said she didn't know anything about Mel's job offer to Felix," Boyd said.

Spencer shrugged. "Don't exactly matter now, does it? Deadpan's history, and so's Mel, but in a different way. All we can do no is try and untangle this mess."

"That's what I like, a positive attitude. Now get your arse downstairs and keep an eye out for Eve coming back."

"Thought she was going to use the back entrance?"

Boyd stared at him. "Exactly. I want Grace to stay up here out of the way, but I'd like at least a little heads up before Eve reappears."

"I'll try." Spencer headed towards the stairs. "What do I tell Stella?"

Boyd ran his hand through his hair. "It's going to have to be the truth now, isn't it?"

"Problem with that?"

"I don't know, Spence. I don't know."

Spencer nodded and carried on down the stairs. A few moments later, Boyd heard lighter footsteps coming up. "You sent for me?" Grace asked, her tone half-amused, half-annoyed.

Boyd nodded. "Please, take a seat. We've put your cases in Spencer's room. Eve's in my room."

Grace raised an eyebrow. "At the same time as you?"

"No. Not that it's any of your business."

"Of course. I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

Boyd waved the apology aside. "I need to ask you a few things, Grace, and the time has come for straight answers. None of this 'I can't tell you'. I will not have anyone else dying over this damn case."

Grace watched the sparks fly in Boyd's dark eyes and tried not to be drawn to them. "Has anyone ever told you, Peter, that you need to control your temper?"

"Frequently and I pay them all the same amount of attention," he snapped in reply. "So, are you going to give me some information or not?"

Grace sighed. "Alright, what do you want to know?"

Boyd thought for a moment. "Did your husband ever work with Big Bill?"

"What? No, of course not! They hated each other."

"Are you certain?"

"Of course I'm certain," Grace snapped. "I've already told you that my husband and Drake were rivals."

"Grace, I know for a fact that James *did* work with Drake, maybe on several projects," Boyd said.

"How do you know?"

"My source is reliable," Boyd replied. "Now, what documents were stolen?"

Grace suddenly paled. "Oh my God. That's why Big Bill wanted them."

Boyd ran his hand through his hair. "Let me guess; documents containing proof of the illegal activity both your husband and Drake were involved in."

Grace nodded. "It's all in some sort of code, though, that's why I didn't think it would make sense to Big Bill. But if he and James were working together, then he could know how to crack the code. And there has to be incriminating evidence in there against my husband…."

"Which he could use to blackmail you," Boyd finished. "The pieces of the puzzle are starting to fall into place. Grace, I have one last question I need to ask you, but I don't expect you to give me an answer. It's a rather personal question."

"Even if I don't say anything, that will still give you an answer, Peter, won't it?" The Rose said with a sad smile.

Boyd nodded, his expression grave. "Would you rather I didn't ask?"

"You want to know about my husband."

"Yes."

"Was he a violent man? Yes. Was he ever violent towards me? Sometimes. He didn't like the attention other men lavished on me, and he seemed to think I encouraged them."

Boyd moved slowly, carefully, to her side, kneeling beside her and taking her hands in his. "I'm sorry, Grace."  
She smiled again and caressed his cheek. "Don't be. I got fed up with it after a remarkably short time and threatened to castrate him if he continued. As I was holding a kitchen knife at the time, James took me seriously. After a while, he apologised and once again became the man I loved."

Boyd looked at her with an expression somewhere between incredulity and awe. "You are…an amazingly strong woman."

"Thank you," Grace said, blushing a little.

"I mean it."

"I know, and that's what surprises me."

For a moment, they stared at each other, reaching a new level of understanding and acceptance, and both moving forward at the same time, they kissed.

TBC


	22. Chapter 22

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*28th September 1938, Morning*

Grace had given Boyd permission to tell Spencer everything he needed to know, so as soon as the opportunity arose, Boyd dragged Baby Face into his office and closed the door. The Boss's eyes kept darting to the window, watching Stella's whereabouts as he talked. When it became clear she was busy, he settled, but once Boyd had finished talking, Stella bustled into the room with coffee for them both.

A sickening feeling was beginning to manifest itself into Boyd's mind, and while he knew his thoughts were unfounded, he couldn't shake the suspicion he was right.

Eve hadn't been back to the apartment or the office since the previous morning, which Spencer was quick to point out. But Boyd wasn't worried. He'd known Eve for a long time and knew she could take care of herself. He was far more concerned with the obvious growing attraction between himself and Grace.

As he tried to work that morning, their brief kiss the day before filled Boyd's mind. He knew it was a bad idea; it went against absolutely everything, every code of conduct he followed, from not getting involved with a client to not getting involved with the mob. But for some reason, with Grace, it all felt right, and *that*, Boyd decided, was the problem; not Grace, but his own mindset.

"You okay, Boss?" Spencer asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

Boyd gave him a small smile. "Define 'okay', Spence, and I'll tell you."

Spencer shrugged. "You're the brains of the outfit, I'm just the errand boy."

"Very true. So, how do you think we should proceed?"

Spencer looked surprised. "You're asking me, Boss?"

"You see anyone else around?" Boyd replied.

"Nope," Spencer said, grinning. Then he suddenly sobered and spun round. "Where's Stella gone?"

Boyd frowned immediately. "You don't know?"

"Wouldn't have asked if I did, Boss, would I? Maybe she's gone for breakfast or something."

"Hmm. So, Spence, we know why Drake wanted the documents and we know it's a pretty safe bet he took them. We now have to find out where they are and how the hell we're going to get them back."

"Ask for them?" Spencer suggested, lighting up his cigarette.

"Stella will kick your arse if she comes back to find you smoking that in here," Boyd told him.

Spencer shrugged. "I'm sure she'll forgive me."

Boyd regarded Baby Face carefully. "You like her, don't you?"

"She's an attractive woman. I'm a normal bloke. What do you expect?"

"And Eve?" The tone was casual, but there was an edge to the question that Spencer didn't miss.

"Again, an attractive woman and any bloke would be daft not to appreciate her, but she's not my type," Baby Face replied. "Got a little too much kick for me to handle. You know underneath this tough exterior that I'm a wimp, Boss. I need gentle handling."

Boyd laughed. "I don't want to know."

"Look, I'm going to go outside and smoke this, and while I'm smoking I'll think about what we can do next."

Out of sheer boredom and pure devilment, Boyd picked a piece of paper up, screwed it into a ball and threw it at the back of Spencer's head. It hit its mark and Baby Face responded by making a rude hand gesture without looking at The Boss. Boyd chuckled, knowing he wouldn't be able to keep hold of an able-bodied detective like Spencer, but enjoying the other man's company while he did have it.

Outside, Spencer huddled against the doorframe and cupped his hands around his cigarette as he lit it. A cold wind had picked up and was whipping relentlessly down the alley where the Old 'N Cold Agency resided. Baby Face shivered, wishing he'd put a jacket on, and turned in a vain attempt to get some protective from the doorway.

Up on the main street he could see two people talking, urgently if their hand movements were anything to go by. Frowning, Spencer narrowed his eyes in an attempt to see them more clearly, and he could have sworn one was Eve. Without moving from his position, Baby Face put an arm through the crack in the doorway and motioned Boyd, hoping The Boss would notice.

"What is it?" Boyd asked quietly seconds later.

Spencer nodded slowly towards the street. "Those two people. One of them's Eve, right?"

Boyd narrowed his eyes as Spencer had done. "Looks like it to me. And I'd say the other one is Day." He turned to his colleague. "I've got a bad feeling about this, Baby Face."

"Me too, Boss," Spencer replied, throwing his cigarette onto the floor half smoked and taking his gun from its holster.

Just as they reached the end of the alley, a black car sped into view, firing five shots quickly. Spencer swore and forced Boyd down to the ground as the car drove past them and raced off.

"I'm fine, Spence!" Boyd said tersely before the younger man could speak.

They hauled each other to their feet and jogged over to where Eve and Day were lying on the floor. "Oh fuck," Spencer muttered, looking down at the mess.

Boyd holstered his gun and checked Eve's pulse. "She's alive. Here, hold her head while I take my jacket off."

"I heard shots! What's going on?" Grace called, running towards them.

"Get back inside, Grace!" Boyd yelled, but she was already beside him.

"Not a chance. Look, Boyd, I used to dress my husband's wounds, the minor ones at last. I can help."

The Boss just nodded curtly, too tired to argue. "Fine. Keep Eve warm, check for bullet wounds," he ordered.

"Alright. Spencer, hold her head this way," Grace said. "Thanks."

Boyd shivered against the cold as he leant over Day. "Fuck, he's terminal. Sorry, Grace," he added as an afterthought.

"Nothing I haven't heard before, I assure you," she replied. "Eve - I assume this is Eve?" Grace looked at Boyd, who nodded. "She has a flesh wound to her arm, nothing more. I think she must have sustained some sort of bang to the head, though, as she moved out of the way of the bullets."

"I think Day accidentally a knocked her out of the way," Spencer replied.

"I'd say that 'accident' saved her life," Grace said.

Eve stirred. "Leave me alone, Peter, I don't wanna get up yet," she murmured.

Boyd blushed deep crimson. "It's alright, Eve, you can sleep a little longer," he replied in a soothing tone, ignoring the looks Spencer and Grace were giving him.

"No, don't want to sleep," Eve said, her voice a little clearer. "What happened? I feel like shit."

"You took a bump on the head," Boyd told her, smiling. "You always were a clumsy bugger."

"I'm too sore and weak to hit you right now, but I'll remember that comment," she replied. Then Eve's eyes widened dramatically and she tried to sit up.

Spencer held her shoulders firmly as Grace pushed her back down. "Take it easy, you've sustained a nasty crack to the head," The Rose said.

"And here's me thinking it was a hangover," Eve murmured dryly. "It's cold out here. We'd better go inside."

Footsteps sounded suddenly, signalling someone coming towards them at speed. Frankie skidded to a halt looking pale. "What the fuck happened?" he yelled.

Boyd rubbed his eyes. It was turning into a very long morning. "Long story. Help me get Eve inside. And where the hell were you?"

"Talking to some of Eve's other sources," Frankie replied as they helped the injured woman inside. "She wanted to meet Day on her own, and no, I don't know why." He eased Eve into a chair. "Look, do you need me? Only there's a dead body on the pavement that needs shifting."

Spencer pointed to his desk. "Use that phone."

"Thanks."

"Spencer, get me the first aid kit, please," Grace said. "Peter, four…sorry, five glasses and a bottle of something strong."

Frankie shook his head and covered the mouthpiece of the receiver. "Not for me, I've got work to do."

Boyd put the glasses on the table and poured four healthy measures of whisky out. "This is getting serious," he said after a few minutes.

Spencer nodded his agreement, lighting up two cigarettes and handing one to Eve, who seemed more animated than before. "So, Boss, which bastards are we hurting for this?" Baby Face asked.

"McQueen was driving, Vine was shooting," Boyd replied.

"Shit!" Spencer exclaimed, punching the air. "Bastards!"

"I wasn't the target," Eve said quietly, sipping her whisky. "If they were aiming at me, I wouldn't be here now."

"Don't be too sure about that," Boyd replied darkly.

"I'm pretty certain the first shot hit Day and he barrelled into you," Spencer said, taking a drag of his cigarette. "The momentum pushed you to the ground. The second shot grazed your arm, but by that time you were well on your way to the floor."

"How many shots were fired?" Eve asked.

Boyd and Spencer looked at each other. "Five," The Boss replied, glancing around the office and realising Frankie had left. "Oh, before I forget, official introductions. Grace Foley, Eve Lockhart, or if you want to get personal, The Rose and Deep Throat. Please play nicely, ladies, for the sake of my head."

Grace reached out and patted Boyd's cheek while Eve squeezed his knee, both of them wearing identical grins. Spencer laughed.

"Don't look at me for help," he said.

"Thanks," Boyd replied dryly. "There's just one thing, Eve; you never told us how Mel was murdered."

"Shot as he was going to the Daimler, right outside Mrs Foley's house," Eve said.

Almost absently, Boyd reached out and squeezed Grace's hand. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Right. Let's see if we can get everything straight."

Spencer looked at the ladies. "This should be fun."

"Drake has some documents stolen from Grace, documents that are written in code and that show his shady dealings with Grace's husband James," Boyd started, leaning back in his chair and filling his glass up. "Grace hires us to retrieve them. Drake doesn't like this and tries to slow us down by planting an acid bomb in the office, while at the same time murdering Mel Silver. Unfortunately for Drake, both events have the opposite effect."

Spencer nodded and took up the tale. "We're now more determined to pin his arse to the wall. Nastiness has a way of bringing out our macho, violent side," he said with a grin. "So we confront Drake, and find out that he's got three of the dodgiest gangsters working for him. Vine, an ex-cop; Hoyle, an ex-doctor; and Greene…well, that's it. Vine's got a grudge against Boyd, Hoyle against Mrs Foley, and Greene tags along because him and Hoyle are fuck buddies." Spencer blushed. "Sorry, ladies."

Eve smiled and patted his cheek. "What a *charming* man," she said warmly.

"Put him down," Boyd told her in amusement.

"Does anyone else think that there are a lot of coincidences happening here?" Grace asked, frowning. "Everywhere you look there are ties between myself and Boyd that have been made."

Boyd nodded. "The thought crossed my mind, but Drake's after you, not me. Besides, it's a small neighbourhood. Makes sense Vine would be attracted to Drake, and the fact he's got a personal vendetta against me works in Drake's favour."

"Boss, there's just one more thing," Spencer said.

"There always is," Boyd muttered.

"I checked the lock on the door. I know Deadpan broke in, but other than that it didn't look forced. Which means either Deadpan *did* plant the bomb…."

"He is not that stupid," Boyd said.

Spencer nodded. "I know. So either there's a damn good lock pick out there or someone let him in."

Boyd sipped his whisky. "I know."

All three stared at him. "What do you mean, you know?" Grace asked.

"I worked it out when I saw the car drive off just now," Boyd replied. "I've seen that car before."

Spencer frowned at him. "Boss, what are you talking about?"

But Boyd didn't answer. Instead he looked at Eve. "Day had something important to tell you, didn't he?"

Eve nodded slowly, obviously as confused as the others, then her eyes widened as she remembered. "Yes, he did, and he was scared shitless to tell me."

Before she went any further, Boyd held his hand up. "Let me see if I'm right first. You can help fill in the blanks and correct me if I'm wrong."

"That'll be a first," Spencer muttered, lighting three cigarettes - a neat trick when done properly - and handing one each to Grace and Eve.

"I'm sorry, Mr Boyd, I just had to go out," Stella called as she entered the room, then she stopped when she saw the blood on Eve's arm. "Mon Dieu! What happened?"

In a flash, Boyd had his gun out and was pointing it at Stella. "Just the person we wanted to see."

"Boss, what are you doing?" Spencer asked incredulously.

Boyd ignored him and looked at Eve. "Am I right?"

Eve's expression was cold. "Dead right. Would you like me to start?"

"No, I'll do it."

"What has happened?" Stella asked again, her eyes wide. Spencer was staring at Boyd as though he'd lost his mind, while Grace was frowning in confusion.

"There've been a lot of 'coincidences' lately, and I don't like coincidences," Boyd replied. "And I'm not in the mood for small talk, so let's cut straight to the facts. Your 'friend', who so kindly drops you off at work sometimes, drives a black Bentley, fixed head sport coupe, '37, and his name is Tommy 'The Noose' McQueen."

"He's one of Bill Drake's main henchmen, and if I'm right, which I'm pretty certain I am, you were sent here to spy on the agency," Eve continued. "Big Bill wanted to keep tabs on the case, and I have no doubts he asked you to point Boyd and his colleagues in the wrong direction if necessary. And if they didn't take the hint, you were to allow The Noose access to the agency to 'dissuade' them."

"The Noose stopped Spence and me following Hoyle and Greene the other night, and he was driving just now when Vine killed Day and tried to kill Eve," Boyd said, shaking his head. "I was so stupid before; I actually believed that you were here about the job. I won't make the same mistake again."

"Stop," Spencer muttered, holding his hand up. "Are you telling me that she," he pointed to Stella, "Is working for Big Bill?"

Eve nodded. "I know you don't know The Jade Flower that well, but I do, and it has a reputation for its entertainment. There's one particular singer who is a favourite of all the punters. Peter, darling, when you went to the club, was there any sign of this singer?"

"Not a peep, and now I think I know why."

"Yes, darling, you do. It's because Stella is that singer, and Big Bill is her guardian." Eve looked at Stella. "Isn't that right…*La Femme Fée*?"

TBC


	23. Chapter 23

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*28th September 1938, Afternoon*

Stella felt as though she was being interrogated before being sent to the gallows, an apt analogy if Spencer's murderous looks were anything to go by. After the grand revelation about Stella's duplicity, Boyd had helped Eve upstairs to rest and Grace had gone with them to keep an eye on the dark-haired woman. Spencer opted to stay downstairs and make sure Stella didn't go anywhere, not that escaping was the first thing on her mind, but he was taking no chances.

Stella found herself quite surprised that she had lasted so long really. She was a singer, an entertainer, not an actress, yet she had been there far longer than she expected she would be. Not that her efforts had been particularly useful to Big Bill, and Stella certainly never expected anyone to die because of the information she had passed on.

Minutes crawled by at an agonisingly slow pace, and Spencer's eyes were trying to burn holes in her head. Finally, Stella could stand no more.

"Would you look somewhere else please?" she asked.

"Yeah, you're right. The view's shit that way," he retorted nastily, turning so his shoulder faced her. Obviously he didn't trust her enough to turn his back on her.

"You don't understand," Stella said, the pain obvious in her voice. "I didn't have a choice."

"There's always a choice." Spencer turned suddenly, his fists clenched by his sides. "You're the reason Mel and Day are dead! You could've got Felix killed as well! Though that wouldn't exactly have been a loss, but that's not the point! Don't you understand what loyalty is? Oh, wait, of course you do. You're loyal to a gangster!"

"I had no choice!" Stella repeated, tears starting to spill down her cheeks.

"There's always a choice!" Spencer roared back.

"Enough!" Boyd's voice resounded around the office like a pistol shot. "Spence, outside, now."

"But, Boss…."

"Move it!"

Spencer scowled deeply, strode across the room and flung the front door open so hard that it bounced off the wall. Boyd glared at Stella.

"If you so much as twitch, I'll cut your hands off," he said in a calm voice. "Do you understand?"

Stella looked suitably petrified. "Yes, Mr Boyd, sir."

"Good." He turned and went outside. Spencer was busy cursing and patting his clothes down. "Here," Boyd said, handing him a lighter.

"You want me to thank you?" Baby Face replied, snatching it from The Boss's hands.

"No, I want you to use that lighter to set fire to that fucking forest you insist on carrying round with you," Boyd snapped back. "It started as a chip and it's grown into a bloody wood. Look, you're young and you're black; you can't change either fact so get fucking used to it and stop acting like you're hard done by, or that you've got something to prove."

Spencer puffed sulkily on his cigarette. "There a point to this lecture?"

Boyd smiled dryly. "Isn't there always? Look, Spence, sometimes you've got to look at the bigger picture. Yes, Stella betrayed us like Deadpan did, but I'm not about to kneecap her for two reasons. One, she's a woman and no matter what they do to you, you don't slap 'em back, unless they get really violently with you."

Spencer snorted. "When's that ever happened to you, Boss?"

"Once," Boyd replied seriously. "And it was my ex-wife. If you think my temper's bad, her's was worse. She actually broke my nose and fractured my jaw with the rolling pin. I gave her a friendly slap to stop her from cracking my head like an egg."

"What's a friendly slap?" Spencer asked.

"I didn't leave a mark, let's put it that way."

"Alright," Spencer said grudgingly, "We won't kneecap Stella. But, Boss…."

Boyd held his hand up. "I know, Baby Face, she led up a merry dance and helped to get two people killed. But look at it from her point of view. Drake's her guardian; that gives him a certain amount of control over her. Say I asked you to do something, what would you say?"

"Probably yes, no matter what it was," Spencer admitted, "Because I owe you."

"Exactly. So ease up on her a little."

Baby Face took a long drag of his cigarette. "So what are you going to do?"

"First she's going to tell us everything she knows about Drake and his dealings."

"What makes you think she'll tell us?"

"I don't think she wanted to do Drake's bidding," Boyd admitted, "But he's got a hold over her. I think she wants to redeem herself with us."

Spencer frowned. "Why?"

"Ever think she might want a way out, Baby Face?" Boyd asked. "Ever think being controlled by a godfather isn't what she wants?"

"No."

Boyd smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Which is why I'm the brains of the outfit and you're the errand boy."

"Watch it, Boss," Spencer replied.

"And after Stella's told us what she knows," Boyd continued, "She's going to help us get Grace's documents back and hopefully bring Drake in as well."

"Not sure she'll go for that second bit," Spencer said doubtfully.

"She might, in time." Boyd glanced up the alley, wondering where Frankie had gone. "So, you gonna ease up a little?"

Baby Face grunted. "I suppose so."

"Good. Can we go back in now? It's turning into brass monkey weather out here."

Spencer threw his cigarette butt onto the floor and followed Boyd inside, just in time to see Grace walking into the room. For a moment her deep blue eyes met Boyd's dark ones and both Spencer and Stella felt the sparks fly, and not good ones. It was obvious Grace had been hoping to have a 'friendly' chat with Stella alone.

"Is it wise to leave her alone?" The Rose asked in a frosty tone.

Boyd was unperturbed. "Stella wouldn't have left. Would you, Stella?"

The young woman shook her head. "No, Mr Boyd, sir."

Boyd smiled. "There. You see?"

"Peter…," Grace said in a low voice.

Boyd's smile vanished in an instant. "I know you're upset, Grace, but this is my home and my business and you are still a client. This doesn't concern you, unless you can promise to sit in the corner and be absolutely quiet."

The Rose's eyes flashed dangerously, and Spencer braced himself for a blistering row. "A woman's place, Boyd?" Grace snapped.

"Not really. The place for unreasonable people," he replied calmly. "And you, my dear Grace, are definitely in an unreasonable frame of mind. Now, you can either sit and be quiet and let me work, or you can go upstairs and stay out of the way, but I'm not going to let you exact any sort of revenge on Stella for Mel."

"I just wanted to talk to her," Grace said, her tone falsely sweet.

Boyd wasn't fooled. "That's exactly that I'm going to do and there'll be no slapping involved in my talking. So, Rose, what's it to be?"

"Just because you're 'The Boss' doesn't mean I'll forget this," Grace told him as she sat down at Spencer's desk.

"I wouldn't expect you to. Baby Face, make us some coffee, will you?" Boyd asked, then he looked at Grace again, his features softening slightly. "How's Eve?"

"Sleeping," she replied in a gentle tone, their disagreement instantly forgotten.

"Good." Boyd picked a chair up and set it opposite Stella. Sitting down, he crossed his legs and folded his hands in his lap. "Now here's what's going to happen," he told the young woman. "I'm going to give you a choice, a deal of sorts, and your answer will determine what happens afterwards, okay?"

"Yes, Mr Boyd."

"Good. Now we know you work for Big Bill and we know that since he's your legal guardian, he has some hold over you. I'm guessing that you didn't really want to do his dirty work for him. After all, acting isn't like singing," Boyd said, smiling. "So, here's what I suggest. You answer my questions, tell us what we want to know, and I'll give you a way to get out of Drake's clutches. You tell him you're not working for him any more." He glanced at Spencer, who nodded curtly. "I'll send Baby Face along as your bodyguard. You'll work here and live here and try to regain our trust. It won't be easy. In fact, life'll be shitty for you for a while, but I'm betting it'll be better than going back to Big Bill and telling him you've failed."

Stella was pale under her makeup, her flaming hair making her look whiter. She could only nod her thanks as Spencer handed her a cup of coffee. Finally she spoke. "Alright. What do you want to know?"

"Where are Grace's stolen documents?" Boyd asked.

Stella looked straight at him. "Bill doesn't have them."

TBC


	24. Chapter 24

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*28th September 1938, Afternoon*

Spencer stared incredulously at Stella. "What?"

"Bill doesn't have the stolen documents," she repeated truthfully. "He wanted me to come here to find out why you thought he did have them."

Boyd closed his eyes and massaged his temples. "Well that throws that idea well and truly out of the fucking window." He sighed. "Alright, let's pick a different starting point."

But Grace was glaring at Stella through narrowed eyes. "How do we know you're telling the truth?"

"You don't," Stella replied, surprisingly calmly.

"Grace, I said I'd handle it," Boyd said sternly. "Stella, do you know who stole the documents?"

She shook her head. "All I know is that Bill was…what is the word? Not upset…." She frowned as she thought, then clicked her fingers. "Confused. He was confused as to why you thought he had these documents."

"Why didn't he just say he didn't have them?" Boyd asked.

"He wanted to try and find out who pointed the finger at him," Stella replied.

Boyd sipped his coffee, grimacing as it was now cold. Setting it aside, he pulled a toothpick out and started chewing absently on it. "Alright. Let's say for the moment I believe you. If it's true, then why did Vine kill Day?"

Stella frowned. "Who?"

"Cliff Day. He's…he was a snitch."

"Sorry, Mr Boyd, I meant the other man…Vine? Who is he?" Stella asked.

Boyd stared sharply at her, then glanced at Spencer. "Eddie Vine, ex-policeman. He said he worked for Big Bill."

Stella shook her head firmly. "I've never heard of him, and no one of that name ever came to the club."

"What about Charlie Hoyle and Tony Greene?"

"I'm sorry, Mr Boyd, I don't know them."

"Shit." Boyd ran a hand through his hair. "How well do you know McQueen?"

"I am not sleeping with him, if that's what you are asking," Stella snapped, her eyes flashing with indignant anger.

But instead of yelling back, Boyd just smiled. "No matter what anyone tells you," he said quietly, "Don't let that fire go out. It's what keeps you strong when everyone else around you is falling apart. You just need to learn to temper it a little."

Spencer made a noise somewhere between a laugh, a snort and a cough, which covered Grace's sarcastic 'ha!' Boyd ignored them both.

"Okay, so McQueen. What do you know about him?"

Stella shrugged. "What do you want to know? He has been Bill's right hand man for many years, and he's one of the only gangsters to proudly advertise both of his names."

Boyd nodded. "Tommy McQueen and The Noose. What I don't understand is if he's well connected to Drake, why hasn't anyone made the connection between Big Bill the gangster and William Drake the businessman?"

"Bill is very clever," Stella said without a hint of bias. Then she looked at Grace. "Surely your husband did similar things. How many times was he arrested and then released without charge?"

"More times than you've had hot dinners, my dear," Grace replied.

"So let me get this straight. Vine, Hoyle and Greene aren't working for Drake, but they are involved with McQueen somehow," Spencer stated.

Boyd nodded. "Yeah."

"So is the documents that are important here?" he asked. "Or is it something else?"

"Such as?" Boyd replied.

"Revenge."

Everyone looked up and Boyd immediately rushed to Eve's side. "You're supposed to be sleeping," he chastised her.

"I was trying to but there's so much bloody noise going on down here that I couldn't," Eve replied. "Don't mother me, Peter. Just make me some coffee and give me a cigarette."

"I'll do it," Spencer offered.

"What did you mean by revenge?" Grace asked Eve.

"Well, you've got Vine with a grudge against Boyd, and Hoyle has a grudge against you. This is more than a coincidence." Eve shook her head. "I hate coincidences."

"The Boss says that a lot," Spencer noted dryly.

Eve smiled. "He talks sense sometimes."

"*He* is sat right here," Boyd grumbled.

"Yes, darling, we know." She accepted a lit cigarette from Spencer and inhaled deeply. "I think that Vine and Hoyle stole the documents from Grace. They already knew that Big Bill and Back Breaker had worked together, and they figured that Grace wouldn't want the police involved. Instead she'd want an agency, and as well as being good, you're the only one in the area, Peter."

"There was a compliment in there somewhere, I'm sure of it," Boyd muttered to Spencer, who grinned.

"The idea is to set Peter up against Drake," Eve continued, ignoring him, "And hope that Big Bill gets pissed off enough to set his bulldog, The Noose, loose."

Boyd groaned. "Please don't make jokes like that."

"And as they have my documents, they could ruin me as well," Grace said.

Eve nodded. "That is what I'm thinking."

"But two flunkies like Vine and Hoyle wouldn't know shit about the dealings of two people like Drake and Foley," Spencer said, shaking his head. "And Greene's only in the picture because of Hoyle."

Boyd looked at him. "You're thinking about McQueen."

Spencer nodded. "Makes sense to me."

"You think The Noose is playing his own game? Setting me, Grace and Drake against each other to see who comes out on top?" Boyd asked.

"Like I said, makes sense to me."

"We need to know for sure," Boyd said eventually. "Stella, this is what you're going to do. Go to Drake, tell him that you're not working for him any more. In fact, tell him you're working for me and if he doesn't like it, he can come here to the office to discuss it. And tell him if he does that to come alone. Make sure McQueen's not around when you have this discussion with Drake."

"What are you playing at, Boyd?" Grace asked curiously.

"I'm hoping Stella can piss Drake off enough that he comes here straight after talking with her," Boyd replied. "I don't want him talking to McQueen at all until we've had the chance to discuss a few things. You got that, Stella?"

She nodded. "You want me to anger Drake into coming here straight away. Do I need to come with him?"

Boyd looked at her. "Do you want to live?"

Stella knew he wasn't threatening her, but trying to protect her. "Yes, I do, Mr Boyd."

"Then you'll come with him." He paused. "Is McQueen Drake's driver?"

"Yes, Mr Boyd, but I can drive as well."

Boyd raised an eyebrow but chose not to comment. "Alright, then you can offer to drive him."

"When do you want me to go?" Stella asked.

"No time like the present."

TBC


	25. Chapter 25

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*28th September 1938, Afternoon*

Stella entered The Jade Flower nervously, even though Spencer was right by her side. She had no reason to trust him now she had revealed the truth, even though Boyd had promised to protect her. And Drake certainly wouldn't be happy with her change in position.

Spencer sensed Stella's unease and took her elbow gently. "Look, I understand why you did what you did, okay? I'm not happy with it, but if The Boss thinks you deserve a second chance, then I'll trust his judgement. Just don't prove him wrong, okay?"

Stella nodded and tried to smile, but it didn't work. Spencer let go of her elbow and took her hand instead.

"I want to do this the easy way, just like you," he said. "So be strong, be calm, and remember, I'm right here."

"Thank you. I don't deserve it, but thank you," Stella replied.

Spencer gave her a half smile. "We all make mistakes. Some of us just make bigger ones than others. Don't worry about it; just don't do it again."

"Got it." She turned a little. "Bill knows we're here." Spencer nodded and fell into step behind her.

"Ah, La Femme Fée," Drake said in a warm voice, going straight to Stella and kissing her on both cheeks. "You're early. I wasn't expecting you until later." Then he noticed Spencer and his expression hardened. "What's going on?"

"We need to talk," Stella told him.

"Certainly, but not in front of *him*."

Stella nodded. "Yes, in front of *him*. And his name is Spencer."

"I don't care, my dear," Drake said. "He has no business here."  
"Then neither do I." Stella turned and took Spencer's arm. "Come on."

"Wait." The word, though quietly spoken, cracked like a command and they both stopped. "Sit down and tell me what's going on."

Stella took several deep breaths before launching into her story. "They know the truth, Bill, Mr Boyd and his colleague here, Mr Jordan. They found out I was working for you, and Mr Boyd has offered me a better deal. I'm going to work for him. I don't want to be your spy any more."

Surprisingly, Drake didn't look perturbed. "What about your singing career, my dear? You are quite talented in that area."

"Is continuing an option?" Stella asked.

Drake smiled and leant across to squeeze her hand. "Of course it is. What a silly question to ask."

The hairs on Spencer's neck began to stand up and he frowned. Something didn't seem right at all, but he couldn't put a finger on what it was. "Mr Boyd would like a meeting with you," Baby Face stated.

Stella looked at him in surprise, knowing that wasn't the way the meeting was supposed to go. Spencer didn't look at her.

Drake just nodded. "Of course. I think it's overdue, actually, don't you?" He stood and the other two followed. "My driver seems to have disappeared, though."

Spencer gritted his teeth together, sensing he had been manipulated but unable to see how. "We can go in my car, Mr Drake. Or would you prefer Big Bill?"

Drake smirked. "Mr Drake will do just fine. Big Bill is for an entirely different situation. Shall we?"

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

In the time Stella and Spencer had been gone, Eve had smoked seven cigarettes and chewed off at least three fingernails, all because Boyd and Grace were arguing. In a worryingly short space of time, they seemed to have it off to a fine art. If Eve didn't know better, she would have said they were an old married couple, having first been childhood sweethearts. She had never known two people who connected as well as they had done; even she and Boyd had never managed that level of understanding and they had known each other a *very* long time.

The main crux of the argument was simple. Grace wanted to be there when Boyd was talking to Drake; Boyd wouldn't even listen to the idea. He called it stupid and irresponsible; Grace called him stupid and egotistical, and a few other things that Eve wasn't sure the meaning of.

The only thing that stopped them was the door downstairs slamming shut, announcing Spencer's return. Eve stubbed her cigarette out and contemplated her ruined nails with chagrin.

"Look, if you two can't behave, you can *both* stay up here while *I* talk to Big Bill," she snapped finally.

Boyd and Grace both stared at her in disbelief. Boyd was quicker off the mark with a reply. "Who the hell do you think you are giving orders in my home, and my office?"

Eve stared evenly at him. "Would you care to rephrase that, darling?"

"No, I bloody well wouldn't," Boyd retorted. "And don't 'darling' me."

The sound of footfalls made them all go silent and then Spencer appeared. "Are you coming down to talk to this guy or not?"

"Not," Boyd replied peevishly.

"Ignore him," Eve said. "He's being overruled."

Spencer held his hands up. "I don't want to know, but there's something *you* should know." He looked at all three of them. "Drake wasn't bothered by Stella's decision at all. In fact, if I didn't know better, I'd say he was expecting it." He shook his head. "Something's not right here, Boss. Drake's initial reaction aside, I think we've been barking up the wrong tree."

"Really?" Boyd looked interested. "Alright, let's go talk to him." He turned to the women. "Eve, stay here. Big Bill doesn't need to see you. Grace, if you're still insisting on showing your hand, come down in about ten minutes."

"Okay," Grace said graciously.

Boyd sighed. "Come on, Baby Face, let's go." At the bottom of the stairs, he took a deep breath and stopped. "What do you think is going on?" he whispered to Spencer.

"I think Drake's been playing Stella," Baby Face replied quietly. "I don't think she had any idea what the real agenda is, and whatever she told Drake could have been intercepted by a third party. I don't think Drake ever had any intention of using violence against us. He's a shit, yeah, shrewd businessman and ruthless gangster, but we don't represent a threat to him, so why expend all that energy to keep us from doing our job? Doesn't make sense, Boss."

Boyd nodded. "That's what I was thinking. Barking up the wrong tree could be entirely right, Spence." He ran a hand through his hair. "I've never felt so stupid in my life."

Spencer grinned. "I have, Boss, many times, so don't worry about it."

Boyd smiled back. "Thanks. Alright, let's do it." He pushed the door open and strode into the room. "Good afternoon, Mr Drake. Thank you for coming at such short notice."

Drake smiled benignly, making Boyd want to punch him. "Not at all, Mr Boyd. As I told your colleague, I feel our meeting is long overdue, don't you?"

"Are you surprised? After the first time we tried to talk to you, is it any wonder we didn't come back for seconds?" Boyd asked calmly.

Drake laughed. "Very good, Mr Boyd. Now, before we get down to the very serious business, what is this I hear of you trying to filch my Femme Fée?"

Boyd stared at him. "Femme Fée? *La* Femme Fée?"

Drake seemed surprised. "You've heard of her?"

"Only briefly. I would never have said it was Stella, though," Boyd replied, shaking his head. "Although now it's glaringly obvious, isn't it?"

"The Fairy Woman," Drake said, looking fondly at Stella who was sat very quietly off to one side of the room. "Make no mistake, gentlemen, she can be deadly. Floats like a butterfly…."

"…Stings like a bee," Boyd finished. "I can imagine. And I'm not trying to steal her. I just offered her an alternative deal, one which I think she'll take."

"Well I can't say I'm surprised. Since she started working here, Stella has told me - quite genuinely, I might add - how much she likes it and how much she detested having to spy for me."

"Why don't you explain that to me? The whole truth, please. We're tired and fed up of playing games, as I'm sure you are too."

"Quite," Drake said, nodding. "When you started nosing around about the disappearance of some files belonging to The Rose, my name cropped up. I was told this by The Noose."

"Your right-hand man," Spencer stated.

"Yes. I suppose The Noose is to me what you are to Mr Boyd, although I suspect your relationship is a lot firmer."

"Are you saying you don't trust McQueen, Mr Drake?" Boyd asked.

Drake sighed. "Let's dispense with the formalities, shall we? They are extremely tiresome. My name is William or Bill." Suddenly he grinned. "Or Big Bill, if you're so inclined."

Boyd smiled back. "Very well. I'm Peter, or The Boss. This is 'Baby Face' Spencer."

"Apt names. Nice to meet you. Now, where was I?" Drake murmured to himself. "Ah yes. Tommy told me that you were investigating said disappearance, and that my name had come up as your prime suspect. Naturally I was shocked."

"Why?" Spencer asked.

"I had nothing to do with the theft, I can assure you of that," Drake said. "If I did, do you really think I would be so stupid as to allow myself to be tracked so easily? No, I wasn't involved. I told Tommy to keep an eye on you, but nothing else. No heavy-handed business, just watch."

"He obviously didn't listen," Boyd remarked dryly.

Drake frowned. "What do you mean?"

Boyd waved the remark aside. "Carry on with your story, Bill. We'll tell ours later."

"When I realised you were still dogging me, I sent Stella here to fill the vacancy of secretary. Very convenient timing, I might add."

Boyd shrugged. "A coincidence, nothing more."

"I began to worry when I heard about the attack on The Rose," Drake continued. "Don't ask how I know about it."

"I wasn't going to," Boyd murmured, smiling.

"Then Mel Silver was killed, and you were dead set on pinning all these crimes on me. I had to do something."

"You sent us that bomb," Spencer said through gritted teeth. "You got McQueen to deliver it."

"If I understand the chronology correctly, Baby Face, the bomb was delivered the same night Mr Silver was killed," Drake replied calmly. "And you and Peter here were both at The Jade Flower. No, what I meant was simply that I had to come and talk to you."

Boyd's eyes narrowed. "Bill, did you or did you not send a bomb to this office?"

Drake looked highly affronted and The Boss could see it wasn't an act. "Of course not. I don't dabble in shady tactics like that. Believe me, Peter, if I wanted to get one of you out of the way, I would have simply hit you over the back of the head or shot you in a leg."

"Reassuring," Spencer murmured with a dry smile.

Drake ignored him. "What makes you think McQueen is involved?"

"Do you know a snitch called Cliff Day?" Boyd asked, ignoring his question.

Drake grunted. "Of course. Little shit used to work for me before someone else offered him more money and better protection. God only knows what he told them."

"Enough," Eve said, walking into the room with Grace.

Time slowed as it usually does in such situations. Boyd almost leapt to his feet to start yelling and gesturing wildly at Eve, who he *distinctly* remembered telling to stay upstairs out of the way. Spence was also on his way to his feet, obviously remembering he same instructions by his boss. But Boyd never made it out of his seat; his anger vanished rapidly when he saw that Drake had actually stood up, simply because two ladies had walked into the room, but then he saw who one was. Eve's comment and her presence seemed to go completely unnoticed by him.

"Grace," Drake murmured, a look of surprise taking over his face.

Grace walked straight up to him and slapped him forcefully. "You bastard! You killed my husband, you killed Mel, and you tried to have me killed! All over some stupid, meaningless pieces of paper!"

She tried to slap him again but Boyd reacted quickly and grabbed her arms. "No!"

"It's alright, Peter," Drake said, his eyes flashing briefly with hurt. "She has every right to be angry, but first there are some more things you should know."

Boyd directed Grace to a chair and made her sit, while glaring at Eve, who pointedly ignored him. "We're listening."

"Firstly, I didn't kill James. We actually worked together; he was a friend."

If Drake was waiting for some shocked expressions, he was disappointed. "We know. The documents Back Breaker kept were written in code," Boyd replied, then he turned to Grace as though something had just struck him. "That's an excellent point. How the hell did you know Bill was involved in this?"

Grace coloured magnificently. "After the theft, I found a piece of paper that looked like it had been dropped accidentally. It was part of a letterhead from The Jade Flower, which I knew belonged to Big Bill."

Boyd groaned and buried his head in his hands. Eve patted his shoulder consolingly. "No doubt it was left behind on purpose," she said unnecessarily, but enjoying the distress it was costing The Boss.

Drake looked at her curiously. "We haven't been introduced."

"Deep Throat."

"You!" he replied, his eyes widening. "Do you have any idea how difficult you and your 'friends' have made business for me?"

Eve smiled sweetly. "Yes, and we're very proud of that fact."

Spencer turned and rolled his eyes, noting Stella's confused expression. "Eve is MI5," he supplied.

Her eyes grew wide and she mouthed, "Oh."

"I think we're getting a little sidetracked here," Boyd said, taking control of the situation again. "We can all hold hands around the campfire later. Right now we have a maniac on the loose, and I'm pretty certain it's your friend The Noose."

Eve looked at Boyd and shook her head. "If you're going to make jokes, darling, use fresh ones, not mine. We both know they're not that good to start with."

Boyd shrugged. "Get over it. When Stella made her reports to you, Bill, would McQueen have been in the room?"

"Almost certainly," Drake replied.

"Do you have any idea where he is now?"

"No, and it's starting to worry me."

"How long have Vine, Hoyle and Greene worked for you?" Boyd asked.

Drake's expression darkened. "Those…." He paused as he searched for a suitable word. "Idiots. They don't work for me, they never have and they never will. Day was a weakling, but at least he had his uses. Those three…." He broke off and shook his head.

Spencer lit three cigarettes up, ignoring Drake's impressed expression. "Vine said he was working for you."

"I would never employ the likes of Eddie Vine," Drake said emphatically. "He's a thug and a bent copper to boot. He can't be trusted with anything, not even the smallest job."

Boyd looked amused. "Are you saying you've never bought a police officer?"

"Not if I can help it," Drake shot back. "They're a corrupt bunch who will take your money and then stab you in the back. The only ones who can be trusted are those no longer in the service."

"I'll take that as a compliment whether you meant it to be one or not," Boyd said. "I believe that Vine, Hoyle and Greene weren't working for you, but someone has been setting them on us. I think it's McQueen. The night Mel was killed, we followed Hoyle and Greene, but a Bentley blocked us off. That same Bentley was involved in a drive-by shooting this morning, in which Cliff Day was killed and Eve here was injured. It's the same Bentley that serves as a taxi for Stella some times; it belongs to McQueen." Boyd leant forwards. "Between us, we've come up with a theory. Let's see what you think."

"I'm listening," Drake said, his gaze intent.

"Vine had a massive grudge against me, and Hoyle has one against Grace. Greene is immaterial; him and Hoyle are lovers, so he's nothing more that a dog's body in this," Boyd explained. "We think that somehow and for some as yet unknown reason, McQueen decided to set Hoyle against Grace and Vine against me, all the while making it look like you were behind it."

"That way it would set you and I against each other, Peter, both stubborn bastards unwilling to give an inch and actually cooperate," Drake continued, ignoring Eve and Spencer's sniggers. "And Grace, being a very strong willed lady, would have taken matters into her own hands eventually and one of us would inevitably ended up dead."

"How do you know that?" Grace asked, frowning.

"Explanations for that can wait," Boyd said quickly. "Why would McQueen want to double cross you like this? I know Vine. He hasn't got anything to offer McQueen at all. He's a monkey, not an organ grinder."

"I'm not sure, but I aim to find out."

"I think," Boyd said, slowly and thoughtfully now, "That, in our own ways, we've all been idiots. I understand there are still some things that need explaining and discussing, but now isn't the time. So I propose that, for now, we all work together. The Noose has wronged us all one way or another, and if we continue working at odds, he'll win."

Drake nodded and extended his hand. "I agree."

Boyd shook it and smiled. "Great. Now, who wants a drink?"

TBC


	26. Chapter 26

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*30th September 1938, Evening*

If the neighbours hadn't known better, they would have said there was a party occurring in the offices of the Old 'N Cold Agency. But no such revelry ever took place there; they weren't even sure if the detectives who worked in the agency knew how to laugh. But the noise coming from the office could only be described as some sort of bash.

The past couple of days had seen Boyd and Drake locked in some serious discussions, hammering each point of the case until there was nothing left to talk about. Spencer and Eve would occasionally add their thoughts, while Stella was happy enough to watch two masters in action. It seemed to her that The Boss and Big Bill had always been friends, or at the least acquaintances; there was no animosity between them at all, both of them recognising the business angle of the case.

But Grace was a different matter. Though she and Boyd seemed to have reached some sort of understanding - both Spencer and Eve's thoughts on that matter were extremely lewd - The Rose viewed Drake as though he was a bug that needed to be squashed.

What Stella found most interesting was Big Bill's reaction to Grace. Normally, when faced with someone who treated him like she was doing, he would become haughty and draw them into a game of power, eventually proving he was smarter and tougher. It didn't matter who the adversary was; what mattered was that Drake won. But with Grace he was polite and courteous, bordering on docile.

"And you say you've never seen him like this?" Frankie asked that evening, as Stella sat talking to him while Boyd, Drake, Eve and Spencer were playing cards.

Even though she didn't know Frankie, Stella felt he was the only one she could talk to about Drake. "No, I haven't. It is very strange," she replied.

"You've known him a long time?"

Stella nodded, her eyes distant. "A very long time."

"From what I understand, Drake and Mrs Foley's husband had a history," Frankie said. "Maybe that's all it is, respect for a deceased partner-in-crime's wife."

"It could be." Stella sounded dubious, though.

Drake looked at his watch and suddenly jumped to his feet, swearing. "La Femme Fée, you didn't tell me what time it was!"

"Mon Dieu, I didn't realise," Stella replied, looking shocked.

"Is there a problem?" Boyd asked, also rising. Spencer followed suit, but Eve remained seated.

"No, no, it's just I have to get to the club. My Fée here is singing tonight," Drake replied. "She needs to prepare; she goes on stage in an hour."

"I can drive you, if you like," Spencer offered. "I want to check a couple of things on the way back."

"Thank you, that's very kind of you." Drake nodded to everyone in the room. Grace was noticeable by her absence. "Perhaps you will join us at The Jade Flower at a later hour and we can continue our game then?"

Boyd smiled. "An offer I'm sure we'll accept. See you later. Baby Face."

"Boss?"

"Try not to break the car."

Spencer rolled his eyes. "Right, Boss."

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

Eve smiled her thanks as Boyd handed her a glass of whisky. Frankie had taken up residence in Boyd's office with the door closed, claiming the need for sleep while it was quiet.

"What a turn around," Eve murmured.

Boyd nodded. "How's the arm?"

Eve smiled at him. "I'll survive, but thanks for being concerned." She sipped her drink. "Peter, are you ever going to tell them about us?"

"Probably. One day." He shrugged roughly. "When the time's right."

"You like Grace."

"S'not a crime."

"She likes you."

"What's not to like?"

Eve laughed. "I'm not telling you anything you don't already know, am I?"

Boyd took a long drink from his glass. "No, not really."

"Call it…."

"…Concern? I'm touched."

"How long are you going to let Grace stew up there?" Eve asked.

"As long as I think it will take her to calm down and not either yell or slap me," Boyd replied.

"That could take a while."

He nodded. "I know." He drained his glass and then rubbed his eyes.

Eve laid a hand on his arm. "You look tired," she stated.

"Wouldn't you be if this was your mess to try and untangle?" Boyd asked.

"In case you're forgetting in your advancing years, darling, this *is* my mess to try and untangle," Eve replied with a sweet smile.

"I hate you."

She laughed. "I know, darling. I know."

"Is there anything else you can tell me about McQueen, Eve?" Boyd asked after a while.

"I've told you all I know, Boyd," Eve replied.

"I've heard that all too often before, but there's always something else."

She shook her head firmly, her expression grave. "I know, and I'm sorry about all those times. Not that I'm saying it won't happen again, of course, but I can apologise for all the previous occasions." She flashed him a smile. "But this time I really don't know anything about The Noose, and that worries me."

Boyd stared at her intently. "Go on."

"I realise we're treading over old ground again, but Tommy McQueen seems, to me, to be something of an enigma," Eve started. "He's the only person we can link to the separate personas of Big Bill and William Drake, but we can't link those two personas together. Anything you want to know about Tommy 'The Noose' McQueen, you can find out. But that information amounts to a huge nothing. Ask anyone about Big Bill and you'll find out plenty. Same with William Drake. Ask them about Back Breaker, The Rose…hell, even Deadpan Phil and Baby Face. But for a man who has made both of his identities well known, we don't know dick about him."

Boyd choked into his drink. "I forgot how colourful your language is at times."

"Blame it on my upbringing," Eve replied glibly. "Any ideas where Spencer has gone?"

"To The Jade Flower, I suppose," Boyd said with a straight face.

Eve punched his arm. "I forgot how clearly one needed to speak when dealing with you," she retorted. "What does he want to check out? He said there were a couple of things he wanted to check on the way back."

"No idea. No doubt he'll tell me when he gets back."

"You trust him a great deal, don't you," Eve stated.

Boyd nodded. "One of the few people who fall into that category. Sometimes the chip on his shoulder masquerades as a forest that wants razing to the ground, but for the most part Spencer's a good man to have around."

"What do you know about The Noose?" Eve asked.

"Nothing, other than he's a nasty piece of work. He pops up on the gangster map occasionally, not enough to track properly," Boyd replied. "The worrying thing is he doesn't seem to have any allegiance to anyone. It's like he's trying to set his own game up and that spells trouble for anyone, gangster and good-guy alike." He glanced sideways at Eve. "Why, what do you know about him?"

"Nothing, and that worries me. Normally we can find out information about anyone."

"Don't I know it," Boyd muttered.

Eve ignored him. "But with The Noose…." She shook her head. "Nothing."

"Did you hear that?" Boyd asked suddenly, tilting his head on one side as if listening.

"Sounded like the creaking step." Eve shook her head again, smiling this time. "I never a set of stairs could grass you up."

"Grace is up there on her own." Boyd sounded worried.

"Peter, relax. She's probably gone out for a while and didn't want to tell you," Eve replied. "We know Drake's not after her, so she's safe."

Boyd snorted. "Safe? Really? Someone kills Mel Silver, Cliff Day and tried to kill you, and you call that safe?"

"No, I call that…."

Boyd never found out what Eve was going to say as the sound of screeching tyres filled the room. As he lurched to his feet, his office door flew open and Frankie emerged, gun drawn and looking bright-eyed.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

Boyd didn't reply; he was too busy running across the room and out into the street, just in time to see the back of a black Ford Coupe, riddled with bullet holes, speeding off. Turning, he raced back inside, taking the stairs two at a time. Reaching the landing, he didn't pause for breath before he entered the apartment.

"SHIT!" Boyd roared at the top of his voice.

TBC


	27. Chapter 27

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*30th September 1938, Evening*

Frankie was halfway up the stairs when Boyd came hurtling back down and he just managed to flatten himself against the wall before he got run over.

"What's happened?" he called after The Boss.

"Safe?" Boyd snapped at Eve. "*Safe*? You and I need to have a talk about your fucking definitions!"

"What's happened?" Eve said, echoing her driver.

"Grace has *gone*," Boyd replied slowly. "Get that? GONE!" He started pacing angrily.

"It's not my fault," Eve snapped back. "I didn't kidnap her, did I? And I don't think Drake did either. We've got a third player."

"The Noose or The Blade?" Frankie asked, holstering his weapon."

Boyd stopped pacing and glared at him. "I don't fucking care!"

Frankie simply stared back. "Well you should because if we know who's got Mrs Foley, we can find her a little easier."

Just then the phone rang and Boyd snatched the received up. "What?" he shouted.

There was a lengthy silence. *"Peter? It's Bill,"* Drake said after a few moments.

"Sorry. What can I do for you?"

*"Tommy isn't here. Apparently no one's seen him all day,"* Drake replied, the concern evident in his voice. *"That's very unusual for him."*

Boyd ran a hand through his hair. "Shit."

*"My thoughts exactly. You sound pissed. Has something happened?"*

"Someone's taken Grace from right under our bloody noses," Boyd replied, dropping into a chair. Eve pushed a glass of whisky into his hand, which he downed in one gulp.

Drake swore. *"When did this happen?"*

"About two minutes ago."

*"You think it's Tommy, don't you,"* Drake stated.

"Either him or you," Boyd replied flippantly. "Anything else happened at the club?"

*"There seems to be some cash missing, a few thousand to be exact."*

Boyd whistled. "Shit. McQueen?"

*"I think it's possible,"* Drake replied flatly. *"I should have known better than to…. Where the hell have you been?"*

The gunshot was so sudden and so loud down the phone that Boyd swore, jumped out of his seat and dropped the receiver as though it had scalded him. It took only seconds for him to spring back into action, but Boyd knew in the current situation, seconds were as precious as minutes or hours.

"Frankie, you're with me," Boyd said, grabbing his jacket and shrugged into it as he ran for the front door.

"I'll come as well," Eve told him, standing up.

Boyd shook his head. "No. You stay here. You're injured and you'll be no use to us," he said. "You know that. If Spencer gets back before we do, send him to The Jade Flower."

Eve glared him. "Boyd…."

"I mean it, Eve, stay put!" Boyd roared as he headed out of the door.

"I'll drive," Frankie stated as The Boss made to get into the driver's side of the Bentley.

"How fast can you get us there?"

Frankie grinned. "Faster than you think," he replied, the tyres on the Tourer spinning up as the car sped off.

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

The interior of The Jade Flower was, unexpectedly, dark when Boyd and Frankie arrived. Both drew Webley revolvers and inched their way into the building, listening for any sounds that would alert them to where Drake and Stella might be. Boyd paused by the bar to listen, and when he moved forward, he stepped in something sticky. Kneeling down, alert for a track, he touched his fingers to the floor.

"What is it?" Frankie whispered, coming to Boyd's side.

Boyd touched a finger to his lips, then spat. "Blood. Fresh. I think someone got shot, probably Drake."

"Shit," Frankie muttered, then his head snapped round.

"What?"

He motioned to the other side of the bar and together they made their way cautiously around, not prepared for what they saw. Stella was cowering in the corner, cradling Drake's head in her lap.

"Shit!" The Boss exclaimed in a hushed voice. "What the fuck happened?"

"I don't know," Stella replied tearfully. "I was in the back, I heard a gun and when I came out, he was like this. He's still breathing; tell me he'll be alright." She was gripping Boyd's arm tightly.

Boyd forced a smile and patted her hand. "He'll be alright."

"He's lost a lot of blood," Frankie said, holstering his weapon so he could examine Drake. Big Bill had a bullet hole through his shoulder that looked like it had shattered the shoulder blade, and it was bleeding profusely. "We need to get him to the hospital."

"I don't think so." A voice echoed loudly around the empty club, and slowly the lights came up.

Boyd jumped to his feet and swung his arm towards the direction of the voice, the revolver rock steady in his hand. "Vine," he snarled. "What the hell are you playing at?"

Vine smirked. "Haven't you worked it out yet, Boyd? Even someone as stupid as you should have joined the dots by now."

"I know you're playing your own stupid game. Who engineered it, though?" Boyd asked. "Was it The Blade or The Noose? Don't tell me it was all your idea; I won't believe you."

"Fuck you," Vine sneered.

"I don't think so. Where is she, Vine?"

Vine stared at him. "Who?"

"Don't fuck with me!" Boyd shouted. "Where's Grace?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Boyd studied Vine's face carefully. "You're a skilled liar. Why should I believe you?"

"First off, I don't know who the hell you're talking about, and second, my only interest is seeing you burn," Vine replied coldly. "You ruined me and I'm going to make sure you pay in blood."

"I don't think so," Frankie said, standing up and walking round the other side of the bar to join Boyd. The Boss guessed Eve's driver had been padding Drake's wound; he hoped Big Bill was going to pull through. Boyd didn't want any more death, not even a notorious gangster.

Vine glared at Frankie. "I don't know you. If you want to live, leave."

Frankie made a great show of pretending to think about it. "No."

"Oh, let me gut him," a man said, slinking out of the shadows.

"Greene," Boyd stated. "So where's your fuck buddy?"

"Shut your face before I carve it off!" Greene shouted back.

Vine glanced at his cohort. "That's a good point, Tony, where the fuck is Charlie?"

"Charlie's here, and I brought a guest." Hoyle stepped into the fray, his arm tightly around Grace's neck.

Boyd took an involuntary step forward, but Frankie grabbed his arm. "Wait."

Vine looked shocked. "What the hell are you playing at, Charlie? Who the hell's that?"

"Grace Foley," Hoyle replied with a sick smile.

"She wasn't part of the plan!"

"Ah, shut up, Eddie! There was no fucking plan, you dumb shit!" Hoyle yelled. "All you could think about was getting your own back on some clapped out, second rate detective. Seriously, you should broaden your horizons a little more."

"I'll broaden your head with a fucking bullet if you don't shut up," Vine snapped.

"Charlie, what are you doing?" Greene asked, his voice quiet.

Suddenly Hoyle was pointing a gun at Greene, his eyes protruding from their sockets. "You! You shouldn't be here! I don't believe it, he was right!" Hoyle started to rant.

"Who? And right about what?" Greene asked, frowning.

"You…you…bastard!" Hoyle screamed. "How the fuck could you? How could you do that me? And with *him*!" He gestured wildly at Vine.

"What the fuck are you talking about you, you moron?" Vine asked impatiently.

Hoyle glared at him. "Me and Tony, we've been together for years, been through everything, and then you come along and steal him from me!"

"What? Are you crazy? I'm no fucking queer, you twat!" Vine yelled.

As Boyd watched, time seemed to slow. When recounting the story to Eve later, it would take him several attempts before he managed to accurately remember everything.

Hoyle screamed, tightening his grip unconsciously on Grace, who was struggling to breathe, as he pulled the trigger. The back of Vine's head exploded, spraying blood and brains on Greene, who was stood next to him.

Taking advantage of Hoyle's distraction, Frankie took aim and fired, the bullet catching him in the neck. Hoyle started to jerk uncontrollably, blood flowing freely from the wound. Boyd saw his hold loosen on Grace and he raced across the room, throwing an arm around her shoulders and herding her back to the safety of the bar.

Greene, coming back to his senses, dove for Vine's gun. Grabbing it, he rolled onto his back and fired off all the bullets left. One nicked Frankie's arm, which he ignored, but another caught him in the hip. As his leg crumbled underneath him, a third bullet pierced his chest.

As Frankie lay coughing and convulsing on the floor, Greene rose slowly to his feet, a sadistic smile spreading across his face. He stood over Frankie and pointed the gun at his head.

"Say goodnight, sweetheart," he sneered.

Two more gunshots echoed around the club. Greene took both in the chest, the force propelling him backwards, and he was dead before he hit the ground. Boyd lowered his gun arm slowly, his mind completely numb.

"Are you alright?" he asked Grace eventually. She too wore a glazed expression and simply nodded. A coughing noise reached Boyd's ears and swearing, he jogged across the room.

"Well," Frankie croaked. "That didn't…exactly…go to…plan."

"Hang in there, we'll get an ambulance," Boyd said, pressing his hand to the man's chest wound.

"Don't…bother…for me," Frankie replied. "I'm…a goner."

"You don't know that."

Frankie gave a weak smile. "Do. I'm a goner…and…it doesn't…matter. Is…Mrs Foley…?"

"She's fine," Boyd interrupted. "Save your breath. She's a little shaken up, but she's not the only one."

"Tell Eve…I'm sorry."

"No, I'll tell her you were a hero."

"Thanks." Frankie coughed again, the action wracking his frame. "One thing before…I…go. What is…it…with you…two?"

"She never told you?" Boyd asked, and Frankie shook his head slowly. Leaning down, Boyd whispered in the man's ear. When he lifted his head again, Frankie was dead, a satisfied smile on his face.

TBC


	28. Chapter 28

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*30th September 1938, Evening*

It was close to midnight when Boyd, Grace and Stella finally made it back to the agency. Drake had insisted on keeping the police away, and he had several of his lackeys clear up the mess left by Vine, Hoyle and Greene. Boyd wasn't particularly sorry to see any of them go, but it left him at a dead end as to where to find McQueen.

Drake had also insisted on having his own doctor patch him up. He had then stayed at the club to oversee the tidying, but he had sent Stella back with Boyd, stating it would be safer for her. No one argued; they were all too shell shocked and bone weary.

Stella was remarkably calm now she knew Drake would survive, but Grace seemed to be withdrawing. As Boyd drove the Bentley back to the agency, he reached over and took her hand.

"Don't think about it," he said softly.

"Think about what?" Grace asked, her voice hollow.

"What almost happened," Boyd replied. "You can mull over the 'what ifs' until they start to consume you. They'll eat you up alive and you don't want that to happen. Yes, you *could* have died. But Frankie is…was an excellent marksman. He knew what he was doing, and he ended up saving your life. You could have died, but you didn't, and *that's* what you need to concentrate on. Not the almost dying, but the fact you're alive." He squeezed her hand and returned his full attention to the road.

There was still a light on downstairs in the agency, but Boyd went through the door cautiously. He'd just about made it in the room when he found his arms full of Eve.

"Where the *hell* have you been?" she demanded to know once she had released him. "I've been worried sick! I tried to call the club several times, but there was no answer. I've been hearing news of a shooting!"

Boyd looked at her sharply. "Heard from whom? How?"

Eve gave him a withering glare. "Peter, darling, try to remember who I am."

"Piss off," Boyd snapped, stalking over to where he kept the whisky and pouring four healthy measures.

Eve looked at him for a moment before glancing at Grace and Stella. "What's happened?" Her eyes widened as they fell on Stella's bloodstained clothing. "Oh my God, there was a shooting. What happened?" she repeated.

"Sit down, Eve," Grace said suddenly, her voice gentle.

When Boyd handed Grace a glass, he studied her face for a moment, then nodded slightly to himself when he saw her expression was clear. He was worried she would go into some sort of shock, but she once again seemed to be in control of herself.

"What's happened?" Eve demanded to know again, her voice laced with steel and panic.

Slowly, with the occasional input from Boyd, Grace told Eve what had happened and how Frankie had saved her life. Boyd sat next to Deep Throat, holding her hand tightly; Eve in turn was gripping him that hard that her knuckles were turning white.

To everyone's surprise, though, she didn't cry. "Cigarette me, for fuck's sake," she muttered.

Grace lit two and handed one to Eve. "I'm sorry. I understand how you must be feeling."

Eve smiled gratefully. "I know you do. Frankie was much more than my driver or bodyguard, he was my friend." She wiped at her eyes roughly. "Shit."

"At least it thins the playing field out," Boyd stated dryly, looking around the office. "Where's Baby Face?"

Eve frowned. "I thought he was with you."

It is a well known fact that silence can be deafening, though very few people believe that until they have experienced it. At that precise moment, in the Old 'N Cold Detective Agency, the silence was so loud Boyd actually thought he had gone deaf.

At Eve's words, Boyd's hand stopped, invariably, halfway to his mouth with the glass. "We haven't seen him," he replied slowly.

"He hasn't been back here," Eve said. "I'd have known if he had."

"Stella, when did Spencer leave The Jade Flower?" Grace asked.

The red-headed woman looked surprised at being spoken to. "He didn't get out of the car when we arrived at the club. He said something about checking a few things out, and that if you asked, Boss, to tell you he'd be back later."

Boyd stared at her with his dark eyes. "Did he say how much later?"

Stella shook her head. "But Spencer did say he would call back here to pick you, Miss Lockhart and Mrs Foley up and bring you to the club for the last show."

"What time is that?" Eve asked.

"It usually starts at eleven."

"Shit!" Boyd exclaimed, slamming his drink down on the table and standing up abruptly. "Where the fuck is he?"

"Peter," Eve said.

"Language, please," Grace murmured simultaneously.

Boyd glared at them both. "Yes, that's my name, don't wear it out. And yes, language is what we use to communicate. Congratulations to you for pointing the bloody obvious out!" He started pacing. "I have almost lost everyone here with this fucking case; I will *not* lose Spencer."

"Well let's look through these notes to see if he's left us a clue," Eve said, gesturing to the pile of papers on Spencer's desk.

Boyd grunted. "I doubt it, and even if you found something, good luck trying to translate his handwriting."

"Bad?" Grace asked.

"Does the term 'spider scrawl' mean anything to you?" Boyd replied.

Stella held up a piece of paper, turning it every way before finally deciding it was useless. "This will take us all night," she murmured.

"Not necessarily," Eve replied, lighting another cigarette. She glanced at Grace. "Do you want one?"

Grace smiled. "I'm trying to quit," she said, looking at Boyd.

Eve rolled her eyes. "As I was saying, I'm waiting for some information from work. That's how I knew about the shooting. I was on the telephone with a colleague and he told me the rumours."

"You work fast," Grace observed.

"We have to."

"It's true that walls have ears where the spooks are involved," Boyd told Grace with a smile and a wink. The banter was forced, but everyone knew they had to remain positive about what was going on.

"Does Baby Face have a lot of contacts you wouldn't necessarily know about, Boyd?" Grace asked.

He shrugged. "I suppose it's possible. Anything's possible, Grace."

A sharp rap on the front door made everyone jump and Boyd's hand went straight for his gun, but Eve shook her head. "I'll get it."

She crossed the room and opened the door, admitting a non-descript man of average height and build, with close-cropped dark hair and wide eyes. He was holding a file, but Boyd paid little attention. Used to Spencer's handwriting, he had just spotted something on the desk that made his blood run cold.

"Thank you, darling," Eve said to the man, taking the file and dismissing him with a wave of her hand.

"Who was that?" Stella asked curiously.

"A colleague of mine, Handy Andy," Eve replied somewhat absently. She opened the file and took out several sheets of paper, two of which contained photos. She spread them on the other desk and started to study them.

Boyd, having picked up the paper from Spencer's desk, scanned it quickly and straightened. He turned at the same instant Eve looked up.

"Shit," he muttered.

Eve nodded slowly. "Oh my God."

Grace looked from one to the other and then to Stella, who shrugged. "Did we miss something?" The Rose asked.

Simultaneously, Boyd and Eve answered. "Tommy McQueen is both The Noose and The Blade."

TBC


	29. Chapter 29

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*30th September 1938, Evening*

Grace and Stella both stared at Boyd, then Eve. *"What?"* they both exclaimed incredulously, just as Boyd and Eve stared at each other and said, "How do you know that?"

Grace held her hand up. "Wait. We'll get nowhere like this. Peter, you first."

"I feel like a child again," Eve muttered.

Boyd nodded. "Tell me about it." He held up the piece of paper. "I don't know how he managed it, but Baby Face found out about McQueen's dual identity. That's all this says. Nothing about where he's gone." He turned to look at Eve.

"It seems McQueen's big plan was to put Drake out of the picture," Eve said, looking chagrined. "Apparently we've been watching the wrong man. It seems that McQueen's been setting this up for some time now."

"Do you know where Spence is?" Boyd interrupted impatiently.

Eve glared at him. "Listen to me, darling, because I will only say this once. I am sick and tired of your intolerant attitude," she said. "If you'll try to exercise a little patience, you might hear something worthwhile."

"My partner is out there tracking a fucking madman and you want me to be patient?" Boyd shouted, gesturing towards the front door. "After all this time, you still haven't learnt what it means to be friends!"

The slap Eve delivered to Boyd echoed loudly around the room. "Is it any wonder I left?" she snapped angrily.

"You didn't leave, you ran away!" Boyd retorted. Eve went to slap him again, but he was ready this time and grabbed her wrist. "Only the first shot's free. Surely you remember."

Stella looked shocked, but didn't dare say anything. Grace, however, wasn't constrained by fear of Boyd's temper. "You wouldn't hit a woman, would you?" she asked, appalled.

"People are always harping on about equal rights," Boyd replied, still staring at Eve. "So why not? If I get hit first, retaliation in measure in allowed."

Grace opened her mouth to make an indignant and shocked comment when she noticed how Boyd was holding Eve's wrist. His grip was firm enough so she couldn't move, but he wasn't hurting her. Grace knew how strong Boyd was; she knew if he wanted, he could snap Eve's arm in two. The Rose's eyes narrowed. There was almost something…loving in the way The Boss was taking pains not to hurt Deep Throat.

"Look, this is getting us nowhere!" Grace said eventually in exasperation. "Stella, would you please make some coffee?"

"Yes, Mrs Foley," Stella replied, hurrying away to the kitchen area of the room.

"Boyd, let Eve go. Eve, don't aggravate him," Grace told them both wearily, and when both opened their mouths to retort, she held her hand up. "Look, the longer you two bitch unnecessarily at each other, the longer this is going to take. Peter, you care about Spencer, don't you?"

Boyd looked indignant. "Of course, but…."

"Then let Eve finish what she was saying."

Grudgingly, he let go of Deep Throat and purposefully moved to a chair further away. "Fine. Talk."

"You're so courteous, darling, thank you," Eve replied sarcastically.

"Eve," Grace said, an edge to her voice.

Deep Throat held her hands up. "Fine, fine." She smiled at Stella as she accepted her cup of coffee. "Peter, do you remember me telling you we suspected Drake of being a Communist, or at least having ties to the Russians?"

"Vaguely. I also remember thinking it was crap."

"Yes, well, you would. That was always your problem."

"Behave," Grace said firmly.

"Yes, ma'am," Eve replied blandly. "Well, it wasn't crap. Listen, to fully understand this, I need to take a little time to explain." She glared at Boyd.

He smiled. "Be my guest."

"Thank you, darling." Eve lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply before continuing. "There is a clear division in MI5 of those who want to expose the businessman William Drake and the gangster Big Bill as being the same person, and those who don't. We want to expose him so that we can get rid of him, but if that ever happens, someone else, an unknown, would take his place. If we leave Bill where he is, we can keep tabs on him easier. It's a difficult choice to make, and so far, we haven't bothered to actually make it, we've just left him to his own devices.

"For a time now, we've suspected someone in London is supplying Russia with secrets, weapons, maps of the city showing important places…anything that would allow the Communists to strike covertly at the heart of England, which is what they want to do," Eve explained.

"Why?" Stella asked.

"They want to start a war, my dear," Eve replied. "They're not happy with what they've got, they want our country as well. We suspected Drake as being the leak because he's the best connected man around, in both the business world and the underground.

"But as we investigated, some things didn't add up, and we couldn't understand why. When I discovered darling Peter here was directly involved with Drake due to a case, I saw my opportunity to try and iron out the wrinkles, so to speak," Eve said, stubbing her cigarette out and taking a drink of coffee. "I didn't suspect McQueen at all, but my colleagues have just found out it was him all along due to a very bold move by The Noose. Or perhaps I should say The Blade. He has openly taken Drake's place as the godfather of London."

"What?" Stella exclaimed, jumping to her feet. "But that is not possible!"

"I think you'll find it is," Boyd replied quietly. "It all makes perfect sense now, but it means McQueen's far more dangerous than we first thought. He sets Vine, Hoyle and Greene up against Grace and myself, making us believe that Drake's behind it. While Drake is occupied with us, McQueen can usurp some gangsters loyal to Bill. Then Bill gets shot and is in no position to defend his…well, position in the mob world."

"Death would have been better for McQueen," Grace said, turning to Stella. "Is Drake well protected?"

Stella paled. "I would have said yes, but now I am uncertain."

"I can make sure he isn't killed," Eve stated. "Pass me the phone, Peter, darling."

"So we know who stole your documents," Boyd said to Grace as Eve made a phone call.

Grace nodded. "It does seem that McQueen is behind it all, doesn't it?"

"As long as Drake is safe, that'll make things more difficult for McQueen," Boyd said thoughtfully. "And there's a chance that if we find Spence, we'll find The Noose."

"Why do you say that?" Grace asked.

Boyd ran a hand worriedly through his hair. "This man is smart, Grace. He'll have known someone was trying to track him. He'll know exactly who told Spence about his dual identity and he'll know Spence will track him down." The Boss looked away. "If Baby Face isn't dead already, I'll be very surprised."

Grace reached over and covered Boyd's clasped hands with one of hers, her other caressing his cheek gently. "Don't think like that, Peter. From what I've seen of Mr Jordan, he's a very strong, resourceful young man. He's a survivor, like you and like me. We'll find him."

"Alright, Drake is under our protection now," Eve announced.

Boyd looked at her and frowned. "Why are you smiling?"

"Because those who didn't want him alive are chewing on their own livers at the moments," Eve replied, beaming.

"Eve," Boyd said, his voice laced with worry, "Do you know where we can find McQueen?"

Deep Throat's eyes darkened. "I'm sorry, Peter, I don't know. We only managed to find out about him playing all the sides because he practically announced it to the world. He's still in hiding, though, and if we can't find him…."

Boyd nodded, suddenly looking far older than his years. "I understand."

"Mr Boyd?" Stella said timidly.

"Yes?"

"Tommy…he would talk to me sometimes. I think he thought I was just a stupid girl…well, he wasn't far wrong really, was he?" Stella asked, smiling grimly.

Boyd smiled back. "Everyone makes mistakes. Do you know something that will help us?"

"Tommy spent a lot of time at The Docks. He would tell me it was his 'special place', his own little hideout. He probably thought I didn't understand what he was saying."

Eve frowned. "The docks? But why there?"

Stella shook her head, and to Boyd and Eve's surprise, so did Grace. "No, not the docks, The Docks," The Rose replied. "It's a pub."

Eve rolled her eyes. "Of course! How stupid of me."

"Do you know where this place is?" Boyd asked, and nearly fell off his chair when all three women replied, "Yes."

Eve then glared. "I'm not staying here on my own."

"No, you're not. Grace is staying with you," Boyd replied, standing quickly and grabbing his jacket.

"Wait a minute," Grace started to object, but Boyd cut her off.

"Look, I love you both very dearly and I will not see either of you hurt any more than you already have been," he said firmly, bright tears standing unshed in his eyes. "I…I lost my son and my wife left me. Gibson betrayed me, and Spence…." He gulped. "I will not lose anyone else; I won't even risk it. You *will* stay here." He then turned to Stella. "You come with me."

"Yes, Mr Boyd," she replied, not bothering to object or ask why he wanted her presence.

Eve went up to Boyd first, put her hand on his chest and kissed his cheek. "Be careful."

Boyd nodded and then looked at Grace, whose expression was unreadable. Walking over to where she was sat, he knelt in front of her and leaned in close. "You're the only woman for me," he whispered in her ear, kissing her cheek as he moved away.

Grace caught him by surprise as she pressed her lips to his. "I'm glad to hear it. Just don't get yourself killed."

Boyd grinned crookedly. "I'll try not to." As he stood, his eyes locked with Stella.

La Femme Fée held her hands up and took a step back. "It's alright, Mr Boyd. I don't want a kiss as well, thank you."

TBC


	30. Chapter 30

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*30th September 1938, Evening*

Despite Stella's earlier claim she could drive, Boyd insisted on getting behind the wheel, relegating La Femme Fée to the passenger seat to shout out directions. She spent most of the journey gripping the door and looking positively terrified.

"It is two blocks from here," Stella announced after a while.

Boyd slowed down, his eyes darting everywhere. "Is it well used?"

Stella shook her head. "No, it's…how do you say? Empty…."

"Derelict," Boyd supplied.

"Oui. Derelict. It is a popular place for many things, so for Tommy to be here, it isn't strange," Stella said.

"Where now?"

"It is near the end of the street, on the right."

Boyd stopped the car, turned the lights off and sat quietly for a while. "If McQueen knew Spence was tracking him, what would he do?"

Stella sighed softly. "I don't know, Mr Boyd. I mean, I knew he was capable of…unspeakable acts of cruelty, but I never believed he would turn on Bill like he did." She shook her head. "I don't know what he will do, but I would guess it won't be pleasant."

"That's what I thought," Boyd replied, his expression grim.

"Mr Boyd, can I ask a question?"

"I suppose."

"Why did you ask me to accompany you? Why not your…'friend', Eve?"

Boyd stared ahead silently for a while, and when he turned, his eyes were flashing with fire. "First of all, I don't like your tone. Don't forget you're still not in my good books," he said, voice rumbling around the quiet car. "Second, my relationship with Eve is private, and I don't need your insinuations as it is none of your business. Thirdly, Eve's injured. If she wasn't, believe me, you wouldn't be here. But as you are, this might be a good chance for you to redeem yourself."

"I'm sorry, Mr Boyd, I didn't mean…," Stella started to say, but Boyd cut her off with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, you did mean it." He went back to staring out of the car. "I don't…expect you to understand what Eve means to me, and I'm not about to explain. And I'm still not sure where your loyalties lie, or how much to trust you, but right now, you're the only able-bodied person I have around, so you'll have to do."

"Yes, Mr Boyd," Stella replied, looking down at her hands.

"You shouldn't be surprised. Did you really think I would just forget your duplicity?" Boyd asked.

Stella shook her head. "No, sir. I just thought…well, it seemed as though you had."

"Appearances can be deceiving. Now, what can you tell me about The Docks? How many exits are there? Is anyone else like to be in there with McQueen?"

"Just the front door and one out of the back, but I'm not sure if that is still used," Stella replied. "There was some building work carried out, and I think the alley the back entrance leads onto is now blocked."

"Okay, so just one way in and out, then," Boyd said. "Anything else?"

"I think Tommy will be alone. He prefers things that way. But he is very dangerous."

Boyd's reply was dry and cutting. "So people keep telling me." He took out his gun, checked it over, then holstered it again. "Right, let's go."

Stella blinked in surprise. "Now?"

"My…my friend is in there with a sadistic, brutal killer," Boyd said slowly and deliberately. "What do you want to wait for, Spence to die? Get out of the fucking car!"

Stella jumped at the sudden change in Boyd's voice and almost fell out of the Lagonda. She was shaking, a combination of cold and nerves, as they walked slowly towards the pub, Boyd tall and imposing beside her.

When the reached the entrance of The Docks, Stella knocked on the door and then walked straight in before Boyd could stop her. Cursing under his breathe, he made to follow her quickly, but didn't make it much past the front door before his instincts started to ring loud warning bells in his head. His hand dove under his jacket, his gun clearing its holster in seconds. Taking a deep calming breath, and focussing on the situation, not Spencer's life, Boyd entered the pub.

It was almost pitch black inside and he resisted the urge to shout for Stella, unsure whether they were alone or not. Then a smell hit Boyd, like the crashing wave of an ocean, and he swallowed thickly: cigarettes, stale beer, and sweat.

"That's far enough, Boyd."

"Give it up, McQueen," Boyd called back. "You'll never make it out of this alive."

McQueen laughed. "Is that supposed to scare me?"

"You must be scared or you'd show your face!"

Boyd knew goading such a dangerous foe was probably a bad idea, but he needed to know if Stella was safe, and more importantly, if Spencer was in the building. Suddenly bright light flooded the room, and Boyd was momentarily blinded.

"There we go, Mr Policeman, how's that?" McQueen replied, and Boyd noted his voice was coming from a different position. "Oh, sorry, that should have been Mr Ex-Policeman. You don't scare me, Boyd. All you've got's yourself. There's no backup waiting for you outside, no one surrounding the building. Right now, it's just me and you."

"Not exactly."

Boyd breathed a sigh of relief at hearing Stella's voice, and as his eyes slowly adjusted to the light, he saw she was close to McQueen, pointing a gun at his head.

The Noose's eyes flashed angrily. "La Femme Fée! What the hell are you doing?"

"Choosing the winning side," she replied, stepping forward and jabbing him in the temple with the muzzle of the gun.

"You stupid fucking bitch, point that thing somewhere else!" McQueen snapped.

Stella looked over at Boyd. "I'm sorry, Boss."

At first Boyd wondered what she was apologising for, then very slowly she turned on her heel and pointed the gun at him. "What are you doing?" he asked, panic slowly starting to rise in him.

"As I said, picking the winning side," Stella replied quite calmly, tilting her head to one side as McQueen moved towards her, exposing more neck for him to kiss.

"It looks like we've arrived just in time, then."

Boyd whirled despite his better judgement, and came face to face with Eve and Grace. "What the fuck are you doing here?" he exclaimed angrily.

"Now, now, Peter, language," Eve replied calmly.

"Don't lecture me about my fucking language!" he roared. "I *told* you to stay away; was there any part of that request you didn't understand?"

"It sounded more like an order to me," Eve said, her eyes flashing darkly.

"All these years, and you *still - don't – LISTEN!*"

The reason for Boyd's rage was as plain as day to him and only one other person in the room, but he had no way of conveying what he knew to anyone else without giving the game away. Unfortunately, McQueen took matters into his own hands.

"I believe you came here for a reason, Boyd, and it wasn't to see me, really, was it?" He gestured to a dimly lit corner of the room.

The Boss followed the movement slowly, half afraid of what he would see. He wasn't wrong. Spencer lay spread-eagled, heavy bruising to his face, with crimson staining his shirt and his trousers. As Boyd watched, he could see blood trickling out of Baby Face's leg wound, and a red haze of fury descended over him.

Recognising the signs, Eve laid a hand on his arm. "Don't do it, Peter," she said quietly. "Use your head. We can get through this, but you've got to keep in control of yourself."

Grace, who had been stood silently near the door, watched as Eve's words had the desired affect, and she felt a bout of sudden jealousy for the dark haired woman. Despite Boyd's assurance that Grace was now the only woman for him, she couldn't help but wonder how close he and Eve had been before.

But once again, McQueen's cruel tone cut through the calming atmosphere. "Well, well, well," he murmured. "The Rose has left her garden. Tell me, Grace Foley, what made you shack up with him?" He pointed to Boyd.

"None of your business," Grace replied tartly, noting how McQueen kept his hands on Stella all the time he was talking.

But she also saw something else, a brief flicker but it was enough to convince her, and suddenly she knew why Boyd had been so angry. Grace was also certain Eve hadn't noticed what was really happening, so she tried to help the situation along.

"I could ask Stella the same question," Grace said clearly, watching Eve's gaze turn back to their nemeses. "Why would a beautiful, strong-willed, talented girl like her want to shack up with a bastard like you?"

McQueen sneered, oblivious to the look of repulsion on Stella's face. "Oh, I'm not the bastard in this room, Grace. Surely you know that?"

A tiny frown appeared between The Rose's eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I don't think you want to talk about that, though, do you?" McQueen asked, relinquishing his hold on Stella and starting towards the small group. "Oh, and through the gun on the floor, Boyd. You won't be needing it."

Gritting his teeth, Boyd did as he was told, his eyes sliding back over to where Spencer was lay. Even in the shadows, he could see Baby Face was still carrying, and The Boss quickly calculated how long it would take him to cover the distance.

"What are you talking about?" Grace asked again.

"Your husband," McQueen replied quietly, then he turned to Boyd and Eve. "Back up against the wall, nice and easy." Lighting a cigarette, he then turned to Stella. "If they move, shoot them."

"With pleasure," Stella told him.

"What about my husband?" Grace asked, steering the conversation once again back to the topic in hand.

"I knew your husband," McQueen said, slowly walking in circles around Grace, his eyes roaming every inch of her body. "Knew him well, in fact."

"You're lying."

McQueen laughed. "Why would I do that? No, Grace, I knew your husband. It was a shame he had to die; we could have been partners."

"He would never have worked with you."

"No, he wouldn't, that's why I killed him."

Grace stared at McQueen, who had stopped in front of her. "You? But why?"

"The Blade isn't such a recent name, you know," McQueen told her. "But still one I wanted to keep secret until the time was right. Back Breaker found out, unfortunately, and was going to ruin me, so I shot him. Not my best work because I was interrupted, but at least it got the job done."

There was no warning from Grace, no sound or hint, before she launched herself at McQueen, her fingers clawing savagely at his face. The Noose let her vent her anger for a few moments, but he soon tired, and with a heavy fist, he punched Grace in the side of the face, watching disinterestedly as she fell to the ground unconscious.

"You fucking bastard!" Boyd shouted, pushing himself away from the wall and towards McQueen.

The movement was expected, but Stella's hesitation to shoot The Boss was not, and because of it, The Noose found himself set upon by an angry bull of a man. Fists connected with ribs and stomachs, and sensing an opening, Eve rushed forwards to grab Boyd's gun from the floor.

But as she passed the brawling men, McQueen stuck his leg up, tripping her up. As Eve struggled to get up, The Noose disengaged himself from Boyd's grasp and looked down at Deep Throat.

"That looks painful," he said before stamping hard on her injured shoulder. "Should've stayed home like Daddy ordered."

Boyd jumped him from behind, but instead of being surprised, McQueen strode backwards purposefully until they connected with the wall. Boyd cried out and as he relaxed his grip, McQueen turned and thrust a knife into his guts.

"Now that's got to hurt," The Noose murmured, twisting the blade a little, enjoying the look of pain on Boyd's face. "This has turned bloody because of you, so I think I'll have a little play before I kill you. I'll be right back with the proper tools. Don't go anywhere, will you?"

He yanked the knife out and watched in satisfaction as Body slid helplessly to the floor. Turning on his heel, McQueen walked past the still forms of Grace and Eve, and ignored Stella. That was to be his last mistake.

Dropping into a gunman's crouch, La Femme Fée aimed at The Noose. "No playtime for you, Tommy."

Slowly he turned. "So you really have changed your spots. I'm disappointed in you."

"And I don't care." And before he could say another word, she shot him.

The noise echoed around the derelict pub for a long time after the shot was fired, and finally, Stella slowly lowered the smoking gun, staring resolutely ahead at the still-twitching figure of McQueen. Of course no one would ever recognise him now half of his face was missing, but it didn't matter. All that was certain was that no one would really miss him. It wasn't the first time Stella had killed someone, but she still felt numb, a deep chill settling into her bones, one she knew would never leave her.

The sound of groaning in various tones brought her sharply back to reality and she turned, her eyes falling on Spencer and Grace's unconscious forms first. Eve had crawled over to them and was tending the wounds as best she could, but Stella knew they would need an ambulance pretty damn quick.

She then turned to the extremely still figure of The Boss propped up against the wall. His eyes were closed, and for the first time in their brief acquaintance, Stella thought he looked peaceful.

"Mr Boyd?" she asked timidly, crawling slowly on her knees towards him.

For a moment, he didn't move, then slowly, Boyd opened his eyes and Stella saw they were dark with pain. "Still here," he replied, his voice hoarse.

"It's over, sir," Stella said quietly. "McQueen is dead."

"Good."

"Are you…alright?"

"I will be."

Stella nodded. "I need to phone for an ambulance." She then shook her head. "I have no idea what to tell them."

"Say nothing," Boyd told her. "We'll think of something later."

"Yes, Mr Boyd." Stella rose and headed off.

"La Femme Fée," Boyd said suddenly, his voice clear and firm.

Stella turned, surprised. "Yes, sir?"

Boyd smiled, the skin around his eyes crinkling as his face shone with warmth. "You're forgiven."

TBC


	31. Epilogue

WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD-WtD

*Three months later….*

*24th December 1939, Evening*

When Peter Boyd thought about the case that changed his life, and that of his working team, he could remember not only the exact date it all started, but most of the details from the weeks that followed. It took a surprisingly short amount of time for his world to be turned upside down and inside out, but Boyd discovered after a while that it had probably been for the best.

As he settled down in the living room of his flat, feeling particularly stuffed after the magnificent meal the ladies in his life had cooked, Boyd started a mental recap of the events from the moment he walked into The Docks, tidying everything into its proper place so he could concentrate on more important things.

Everything after Stella shot McQueen was a blur. Boyd vaguely remembered being in hospital, and arguing with someone, most likely the doctors and nurses who objected to him going home. The next thing he knew, he was in his own bed with Grace sat beside him, holding his hand. One side of her face was bruised horrendously, McQueen having cracked her cheekbone in his savagery. Boyd knew that if The Noose hadn't already been dead, he would have killed him for hurting Grace that way.

Setting eyes on Grace before he saw anything else, Boyd knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and so, despite their injuries, he had pulled the covers of his bed back and drawn her to him, holding her as close as he could while she cried.

Boyd's thoughts then turned to Spencer, who had also been moved into the apartment while he healed, on The Boss's insistence. The bullet wound in Spencer's leg had been a serious injury, and while he was now walking about, he needed the aid of a stick and he had a limp which seemed to be permanent.

There were two things that amazed Boyd about Baby Face's situation. One was the speed at which the younger man had recovered, and the strength with which he carried himself through his injury. He rarely complained and moaned, and still insisted on doing most things himself. It was such an inspiring display of strong will that Boyd felt ashamed, even though he couldn't make himself heal any quicker.

The other thing that surprised Boyd was Stella's sudden attentiveness to Baby Face. As the two most able-bodied people in the strange conglomerate of persons that The Boss had started to call his family, Stella and Eve had agreed quite readily to look after the injured in the comfort of their own home. Boyd had to admit that Stella actually made quite a good nurse, or she would if she paid as much attention to her other patients as she did to Spencer. Eve, on the other hand, had the bedside manners of a corpse; Boyd figured she was probably better with dead bodies than live ones.

But then as he thought about it, The Boss realised he didn't want Stella to pay more attention to him. Or at least not the same attention she was giving Spencer. As Boyd sat in his chair, staring into the flames of the fire, he smiled slightly. If Baby Face couldn't see that La Femme Fée was throwing herself at him, then he wanted a smack around the head, and Boyd was more than happy to provide that if necessary.

Eve had gained herself a new driver, Andrew 'Handy Andy' Stephenson, the same agent who had delivered the news about McQueen's dual identity. Boyd knew Deep Throat better than anyone else, and even though she flirted with anything that moved, her attitude towards Handy Andy was different, and if he didn't know better, The Boss would have betted that Eve had finally found love.

"That's a serious face, Peter, old chap," Drake said as he sat down in the armchair next to Boyd's.

"Just sorting through a few things, Bill," Boyd replied. "Tidying everything into its proper place so I can fit more crap into my head. You know how it is."

Drake chuckled. "I certainly do, my man. I certainly do."

While Boyd had been unconscious after his stabbing, Stella, Drake and Eve's colleagues had decided to, briefly, cooperate and smooth over the whole incident at The Docks, much in the same way they had with the bloodshed at The Jade Flower. While Drake's club was undergoing refurbishment after that incident, Boyd had invited him to stay with them. The offices downstairs had been converted into bedrooms as the agency was closed for a while due to extensive injuries of its workers, so initially Drake took up residence there with Spencer and Boyd, while the ladies claimed the apartment upstairs.

As the weeks turned into months, sleeping arrangements were slowly altered, and finally, the week running up to Christmas, Boyd finally had his office back to normal, and could lay claim to his own bedroom for the first time since September. Drake had moved back to the quarters he kept at The Jade Flower a month ago, but was a regular visitor now, especially on the nights that Stella sang at the club. Grace still wasn't completely happy having Big Bill around, but she acted graciously enough to him.

"Is there enough space in that chair for two?"

Boyd, who had been starting to doze, opened his eyes and smiled up at Grace. "I think we can manage," he said, pulling her carefully down on his lap.

"How is your wound?" Grace asked, resting her hand lightly on his chest.

"Fine. How's your cheek?" Boyd replied, brushing his fingers across her skin.

"Fine."

"Hey, Boss, what do you think about me getting a tattoo?" Spencer asked as he hobbled into the room.

Boyd stared at him. "I think you're crazy. But then again, any man with two studs in his ears has got to be a couple of slates short of a full roof."

Spencer grinned and lowered himself awkwardly onto the couch. "Yeah, that's what I thought you'd say. Good job I've already had it done, then."

Boyd groaned. "You're not serious."

"Bloody well am. Want to see?"

"Where is it?" Boyd asked cautiously.

"Stella!" Spencer called. "Help me take my pants off, will you?"

"Spence!" Boyd protested at the same time Grace and Drake shouted, "No!"

Stella had appeared like greased lightning in the doorway of the living room, but her face fell when she heard the objections of the others. "Maybe later, Baby Face," she said, winking at him before heading back to the kitchen.

"Serves you right," Grace told Spencer as he blushed magnificently. "So where is this tattoo?"

"Around the bullet wound."

"Interesting."

"I am not getting any tattoos," Boyd stated.

Grace smiled at him and snuggled into his shoulder. "Don't worry, I like you just the way you are."

"Right, the kitchen has finally been set to rights," Eve declared, dropping onto the couch and lighting a cigarette. Handy Andy, who had been hovering uncertainly in a corner, pulled up a chair beside Eve. Stella was the last to enter the room, and when she saw that the only free space was beside Spencer, she looked as though she wasn't sure whether to be mortally embarrassed or deliriously happy. She settled for somewhere in between, and managed to hold that expression for all of twenty seconds; then Spencer put his arm around her, and she instantly turned to mush.

"Well, isn't this cosy?" Drake said with a smile, looking around the room.

"Yes, it is," Boyd agreed, closing his eyes.

"There's still a few things we haven't cleared up on this case, Boss," Spencer said.

Boyd groaned. "Baby Face, it's Christmas Eve. Give it a rest."

"I never thought I'd hear you complain about working," Eve stated dryly.

Spencer turned to her. "That's the first thing. What is it with you two?"

"What's the second thing?" Boyd asked, deliberately avoiding the question.

"What we were originally hired for. To find Grace's missing documents. The Docks got turned over pretty well and there was no trace of them, which means me think that McQueen didn't have them after all," Spencer replied. "So if he didn't, who did?"

"I can answer that," Drake said heavily. "But first, I need to ask Grace a question."

Grace looked at him, her expression guarded. "Go on."

"When you were younger, during your first few years of marriage to James, do you remember someone by the name of Billy? Or Billy the Kid?" Drake asked. "Think carefully."

Grace frowned. "Of course I do. He and James were inseparable, up until Billy disappeared. He was such a sweet man, and…." Her eyes widened suddenly and she paled. "Oh my God. It was you."

Drake nodded. "I had known James since we were children. We grew up together, got in trouble together, and started our businesses together. But the older we got, the wiser we grew and we realised that we were *too* successful together. If we had stayed partners, we would have both ended up dead and less honest folk, like McQueen, would have been running London. James and I decided that we would go our separate ways, and act like rivals. That way we would keep tabs on all the young gangsters, who would choose between joining myself or James, and if any looked like trouble makers, they would be watched *extremely* closely.

"James and I kept in regular contact, exchanging details of business deals, the ones that could be sabotaged and the ones that were to be left alone. We each grew profitable while maintaining this ruse, and for many years it worked," Drake explained. "The spooks and the police knew better than to interfere with us, and for the most part we behaved ourselves. McQueen changed all that. When I first got wind of The Blade's activities, I knew that if certain documents were ever found, everything James and I worked hard to build would be destroyed. It may sound stupid to you, but we organised crime in such a way that it was almost legal, and most certainly it was honest. By no means were we Robin Hood figures, but we set up certain rules and boundaries that everyone else was quite happy to follow.

"Then James was killed, and I knew something bloody was about to start. Around the same time, The Blade started to make a real nuisance of himself." Drake paused to take a sip of the whisky Eve had just handed him. "No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't find out who The Blade was, or who killed James. I had a hunch the two were linked, but proving it…." Drake shook his head. "That was the difficult part. Then another problem reached my ears; someone had poured poison into Grace's ear, making her believe I was responsible for her husband's death."

Everyone turned to Grace. "Is this true?" Boyd asked.

The Rose shrugged. "It seemed logical. I knew of the rumours, of course, that the two of them hated each other. I thought that Dra-…Bill wanted James out of the way because he was such a strong rival."

"Even if I hadn't been friends with James, I would have been slightly uneasy knowing The Rose had a vendetta against me," Drake continued. "I'm not saying I couldn't have taken care of it, but as she is a lady, she has a considerable advantage over a gentleman like myself. I knew then that the chance of the coded documents falling into the wrong hands was an extremely likely possibility, so I sent La Femme Fée to retrieve them."

"Sorry," Stella piped up from Spencer's side.

"I also asked her to drop the paper that would eventually lead Grace to The Jade Flower," Drake said. "I knew the time had come for the truth, but I wanted it to be on my own terms, of course."

"Of course," Boyd murmured dryly.

Drake ignored him. "I honestly had no idea that Tommy was The Blade. He was exceedingly clever to keep that a secret from me. My plan was to lure Grace to the club, assuming she followed up the lead on the piece of paper, and come clean." He lowered his gaze and shook his head. "I never knew things would get so out of hand." He looked up again and sighed. "Of course, by involving you, Peter, Grace altered my plans considerably. I couldn't simply turn round and say 'why yes, I do have the documents, here they are', could I?"

Boyd smiled a little. "I suppose not. So you still have the documents, I take it?"

"I do, and they are in an exceedingly safe place," Drake replied. "I will, of course, hand them back to Grace, if that's what she wishes."

"Do they serve any purpose?" Grace asked.

Drake shook his head. "Not really. In fact, I'm surprised you kept them."

"They had James' name on them," she replied simply, and Boyd squeezed her hand tightly.

"Do you know something?" Spencer murmured to Stella as he pulled a face. "I wish I'd never asked now. My head hurts."

"Awww," Stella replied, stroking Baby Face's temple.

Drake looked over at them pair, his expression serious. "La Femme Fée, I think it's time we told them the truth."

Stella nodded slowly. "I think it is best."

Boyd groaned. "Oh God, not more secrets."

"This one is important," Drake replied.

Eve raised an eyebrow, then lit two cigarettes, handing one to Spencer. "I think you're going to need this, darling."

"Yeah. Thanks," Baby Face said. "Alright, go on. We're all ears."

Stella took a deep breath. "Bill is more than just my guardian."

"You two are having an affair?" Andy blurted out, startling everyone. He turned beet red in a matter of seconds, and ducked his head quickly. "Sorry."

Eve squeezed his hand. "Don't worry about it, darling. You're not the only one who speaks his mind like that." She cast a glance at Boyd.

"Right, you two," Spencer said, pointing at Eve and Boyd, "Can tell us what the hell is with you, right after them two," he pointed to Stella and Drake, "Have revealed their big secret. And no throwing things at me, Boss. I'm injured."

"Don't worry, Baby Face, I'll just keep a record of how many times you blaspheme or use bad English and batter you when you're better," Boyd replied with a grin.

"Bill is my father," Stella announced. "My biological father."

The silence was broken after a few seconds by Eve. "Oh," she said. "Is that it?"

Drake looked amused. "What were you expecting?"

Deep Throat shrugged and blew a smoke ring. "Oh, I don't know. Something…juicier, I think."

"I think we've got dibs on that, *darling*," Boyd drawled.

"Too true." Eve looked around the room and plastered a sickly sweet smile on her face. "Is everyone seated comfortably? Good, then I'll begin."

"Has she always been like this, Boss?" Spencer asked, grimacing.

"All the time I've known her," Boyd replied, nodding.

"Actually, Peter darling, why don't you tell the story?" Eve suggested. "After all, I'm sure Baby Face would love to know why he's paying you rent when you actually own this building."

Boyd groaned and pulled a face. "Thanks, Eve. I'll catch hell for that now."

She smiled beatifically at him. "I know."

Spencer was spluttering with righteous indignation. "I thought you said you rented this building!"

"Right, first of all, hear the whole story before you start shouting," Boyd said. "Now, think back to when we met. If I'd offered you a room rent free, would you have taken it? No, you'd have told me you weren't a charity case, wouldn't you?"

Spencer just shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose."

"No 'suppose' about it, Baby Face, you know you damn well would have done," Boyd replied. "So I offered you the room if you paid for it, albeit at a much lower rent than anywhere else. You wanted to stay here and work for me, so you didn't ask questions. Happiness all round. And," he held his hand up to stem any comments, "If I'd told you I owned this building, you'd have treated me a lot different than you did. This worked out best all round, so I don't know what you're complaining about."

"You should have told me," Spencer grumbled eventually.

Boyd shrugged. "Yeah, well, now you know."

"Yes, but you haven't told us how you came to own a building," Grace said.

"It was left to me by my father," Boyd replied. "He owned it; I grew up here."

A sudden thought, clear as day, came to Grace and she turned to look at Boyd. "You and Eve were never lovers, were you?"

Eve choked on her drink while Boyd laughed out loud. "Good God, no!" Deep Throat said once she had calmed down. "No insult intended, Grace, but I have far better taste than that."

"Wait, so if you two weren't…you know," Spencer started.

"What is it with you?" Stella finished.

"Eve is my half-sister," Boyd replied. "My father had a…relationship outside of wedlock…."

"Please, Peter, don't be a gentleman about it," Eve interrupted. "Our father had an affair with a prostitute, which resulted in me."

Boyd shrugged. "You know I like to spare your feelings when the situation is serious."

"I know, and I love you dearly for it," Eve replied fondly.

"Anyway, my mother died not long after Eve was born, and then shortly after that Eve's mother died as well," Boyd continued. "My father felt so guilty about his actions that he brought Eve here to live. We grew up together, until we were…what?"

"I think I was nineteen, and you were twenty five," Deep Throat replied. "I left to find a job in the centre of London, and ended up being approached by MI5."

"I've been dying to know," Spencer said, "How did that happen?"

Eve laughed. "In a rather boring way. A thug tried to mug me, I beat the crap out of him, and an agent saw the whole thing. He thought I handled myself well and that I had potential, and then next thing I knew, I was being trained as a spook." She shook her head. "I never thought when I was growing up that all the arm-wrestling and pillow fighting with Peter would pay off, but it did."

"You're welcome," Boyd replied.

"Well, now we all know the truth," Drake said. "At least, I presume we do? Any more secrets?" Everyone shook their heads. "Excellent. Then I think it's time to have a drink and celebrate our simple good fortune of being together." He stood and poured whisky for everyone.

"I'll drink to that," Boyd said, kissing Grace on the cheek first.

She smiled. "Me too."

"Merry Christmas, everyone," Stella said brightly. Spencer started to make a contribution, but found Stella's lips glued to his and he gave up trying to talk.

"And a Happy New Year," Andy supplied.

"I'm not bothered about that, just as long as it's quiet," Eve finished.

As they toasted, Boyd breathed a sigh of satisfaction. The night no longer seemed so dark to him. The dawn of hope was shimmering at last.

FIN


End file.
